A is For Apostate
by leogrl19
Summary: Alphabet fic! YAY! It's a pretty simple concept, really: little clips in time on the relationship between our beloved Morrigan and the male PC Amell explained in detail but by a chosen letter; detailed summary inside. G is for...
1. Apostate

It was only a matter of time before I found myself in the DAO section...Though I do like the thought of sooner than later no matter how pissed some of my other fans may be. haha

So, of course, Morrigan is awesome -- and I JUST finished a play through romancing her and as most who know me know, it had to be written about. Yes, it sucks that you don't get the happy ending, but did you expect anything less from a character like her? Come on: she's only the exact opposite of conformity, and I don't see her in an apron making supper while little Wardens are running around the kitchen ;)

But being that this is fanfiction, and we can write all our little unfulfilled desires here, let the story commence! I felt a bit...weird about the romance with our Morrigan, as if it were nice, but choppy and overall erratic; I couldn't get a smooth pace for it -- ESPECIALLY when you're trying to be the good guy and not ask for the quickie and then get literally FLUNG into the friend zone. And let's not even start on the whole, 'I feel like I've literally bought your love with jewelry' guilt at the end of the day. lol But whatever, I'ma gonna fix all of that now!

I thought it would be cute, (and give a good challenge to a person's 8th fic) to have this be an alphabet story, where every title is another letter and you reviewers all try in vain to guess the next one while the one person who DOES get it gets a virtual cookie. :) The chapter will also be shorter and more frequent (I hope) because of this. I also kinda wanna dabble with a future/past theme throughout the fic, where it randomly switches back and forth: it won't be in every chapter, but it's in this one.

SIGH, but I'm stalling....

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Morrigan no matter her awesomeness or any of the Dragon Age universe -- I just write about it, hoping to please the Bioware gods into making sequels.

All right: let's do this! I love first chapter excitement -- enjoy!

* * *

_Morrigan…._

The now restless mage was a fool to give way to such a thought as he toss around in his bed, and surely a masochist to endure the trickling rivulet of emotions that now coursed through him from just the conjuring of that woman's name, making his body shiver from the unexpected intensity after forsaking it for so long; the pleasure, the pain.

She was a woman all her own – in a league with no equals, and seemed determined to let all in her company know such. No one, it seemed she was sure, would be able to figure out her true nature or discover just who she was as she had so easily disassembled all of them: their characters, their beliefs, their values. All people – all **men**, he was sure he could substitute, were just categories to one like her. All that was deemed necessary during the first encounter was for her to put you in your respective box and then treat you accordingly; there were even times when it seemed she'd tired of it, dismissing some individuals immediately as if she already knew the outcome and no longer desired to play.

It was all a game, you see. And she always came out the winner.

There were times, he remembers with bittersweet fondness, when he even asked her if she truly were human, or just some puckish deity looking to wreak havoc on what all other Fereldens considered normal life; she, in turn, rejoined with that classic, if not devious, little smirk of hers, her golden eyes flashing with amusement:

"_Another of your odd queries, is it? Why must you ask such uncanny things?" _She would always continue before he could defend himself. _"No matter: I will indulge you. I would fancy myself more demon than god, if only on the count of ambition. Gods need a simpleton's belief to exist, demons merely make it so." _

The man had laughed; yes, but he also wondered. With her, he always wondered. And those eyes – what dangerous orbs she possessed! How many other men had they so effortlessly manipulated? Not that she needed to rely solely on their mystique, of course.

Morrigan was gorgeous, possessing a beauty that made one add another question to prolong their exposure to her; surely, there was no doubt she was as exotic and mystifying as the Wilds she grew up in, but he seemed one of the only men in…Well, in all Ferelden, to appreciate where her true beauty lay: her barbed tongue and viper wit; her observant, yet critical nature: and most of all, that innocence that lacked naivety. Others were more put off than anything by that introverted, if not aloof aura, often ignoring her or birthing snide remarks when she deliberately placed herself far away from them all when they made camp – though, truth be told, that was one of the many snares that had preoccupied his feet to find their way to her makeshift camp many a night.

In retrospect, he also wonders if that was part of her many faceted plan as well; knowing that their other companions would not fall into such a trap that was only fashioned for the likes of him….

While many disliked her abrasive personality, and blunt opinions, Alistair definitely being number one on said list, (He'd make an 'I hate Morrigan's squishy, witchy guts' guild if he could and feel very accomplished) the mage could only find it refreshing. Perhaps it was because he valued such honesty, no matter how subjective; perhaps it was because it was familiar: the Templars back at the Tower certainly did not hide their hatred, distrust, or with some, just complete disregard of existences while being a constant presence every hour to their days. Though…stifling, to say the very least, he much more approved of the Templars' open tactics than the veiled statements of older enchanters and the useless organizations they created; being told that he could join one when he became a full mage after his Harrowing gave him no sense of joy or excitement – it only proved all the more the gullibility of the elders: why would the Templars not give the mages something to occupy their time? Was he to be eager to participate in a plot to turn their hostilities away from the originators of their torment so they would then waste time arguing senselessly amongst each other?

But, dear Morrigan had given him a freedom of sorts, shown a vast, colorful world outside of the secluded Tower, outside the very Circle of Magi itself that he never dreamed existed; the opposite side of his coin. She proved it was indeed possible to defy his harsh benefactors and to also do so with some hope of success; and if there was any start to their ill-fated tale, any clear and concise moment of entrapment, it would be solely this: she was an apostate.

* * *

"Well, that was…pleasant." Daveth stated, grunting as he vehemently kicked a now dead Darkspawn off to the side, sheathing his double daggers behind his back afterwards. "You'd think we'd already been through the Warden ritual by now: surely we have more blood caked on us now then we ever collected in those vials."

Jory grimaced from the sight of the twisted creatures, still not fully believing that they had won against so many of them. "Ugh, don't remind me. I've got blood in places I never even knew existed."

"Right: any more wonderful understatements to be addressed? No?" Alistair asked them both with exaggerated shock, if not the same amount of typical sarcasm. "Then how about we get back to finding those treaties so we can leave this dark place? Unless," he turned to the white haired mage surveying the newly opened area, "You have something to add, Aridias?"

The mentioned man shook his head before bringing a hand up to point forward. "There's some kind of coffer ahead of us, though, from here, I can't see if it's fallen into horrible disrepair or just been poorly scavenged; we should find out."

"Well, at least one out of three is focused on what we came here to do; maybe the two of you should grab a rock and take notes." Alistair suggested with a raised brow and a humored grin.

"Hey, if I were some mage, cooped up in that Tower of theirs, I don't think I'd have much of a sense of humor either."

Ignoring Daveth's quip as he was sure Jory still feared his powers enough not to tack on anything else, especially after truly witnessing them against the Darkspawn, Aridias made his way forward, gnarled staff already re-clasped to his back; it was not that he did not have a sense of humor, but that there was a time and place for it…That, and the two weren't particularly funny. Though, disregarding the fact that both men were about as ignorant to the realities of a Circle mage's life as any other, Daveth was surprisingly accurate: many mages did not have numerous things to laugh about…though there were plenty of things to fear.

Their Grey Warden adviser sighed as all four of them approached the cache. "Looks like you were right; it's definitely been picked at, and nature hasn't been too kind to it either. Still, we should check to see if there's anything important left in there."

Aridias took it upon himself to be the one to look, crouching down to his knees to examine the destruction the chest had taken. "It looks almost as if it had been split apart by some mighty swing of a sword. It's completely demolished. I can attempt to pry it open, but it doesn't seem as if it would be worth the effort."

"_Well_, _well_…What have we here?" An unknown, yet undeniably feminine voice resounded throughout the area, all of the men hastily turning toward it to ascertain a possible threat.

An attractive, black-haired woman was now standing on the landing above them, donned in a royal purple blouse the likes of which the mage had never seen as it did very little to cover her…private areas and left all but little to the imagination, her bottom a mess of leather strands and wrappings that appeared to be both skirt and pant. Looking past her strange form of dress, the thought that she had not been heard until now greatly unnerved him as he stood to his full height once more.

_If she wished it, she could have taken us all by surprise and surely killed us off…So why reveal herself now?_

Ambling down the stone landing, she descended without any sense of urgency, her tone complacent, if not superior, as if she were ruler of the Korcari and they were the unwelcome trespassers in her domain. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" She offered as a second option, the corner of her dark lips turning up into a wicked smile as her body was now fully in view. "Or merely an intruder, come into these Darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

"Easy prey?" It was a thought that would not remain silent as it escaped the Circle mage's mouth while he took a few steps toward her, his face not being able to quell his interest in her recent arrival – especially now that he had discovered what look like a staff on her back. "Why would you be prey of ours?"

Her almost unnaturally golden orbs then focused on him solely, studying him before flicking to his own magical instrument; her smile grew from the revelation. "My, my…Aren't you the impertinent one? I would ask that you answer my questions first and then, perhaps, I might be willing to divulge a few answers of my own. You _are _the intruder here; rightfully, the first question should be mine."

"Best do as she says for now." Alistair whispered to the man, his eyes never leaving the woman's form. "I've got a pesky feeling we shouldn't make someone like her angry."

"An unexpectedly sensible claim." She remarked dryly.

The two magic wielders simply stared the other down, chestnut meeting gold; the male could not gather any reason to explain himself to her – though that was only when he was not put into a momentary stupor from the sheer brilliance of her eyes; he chanced it on boldness, but he could not seem to escape them.

"What say you, _hmm_?" The woman crossed her arms, her tone now suspicious and demanding as she broke the trance. "Scavenger or intruder?"

"Not much of a choice…" Daveth mumbled under his breath before Jory shot him a dirty look.

"I'm to be branded an intruder, am I?" Aridias questioned right back, his eyes narrowing from her accusation. "Do you truly reside here? Is this place home enough to so casually claim the Wilds your own?"

The woman chuckled at this entertaining impetuousness he clung to. "Why, yes – because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?" She questioned back rhetorically before walking past him and the others, "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go', I wondered; 'why are they here?' And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for _so _long…" Her head cocked lightly to the side with query, "Why is that?"

"Don't answer her." Alistair quickly warned, the expression he held plainly revealing that he did not trust this woman, a look the mage knew well from other Templars: the repugnance and distrust. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"_Oowh_," she exclaimed dramatically, her hands rising in a mocking fashion, "you fear barbarians will _swoop _down upon you!"

"_Yes_…Swooping…is _bad_."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Daveth cried out fearfully, taking a few hesitant steps backward. "She'll turn us into toads!"

Aridias scoffed, amused, despite himself and by the situation; the man was so very, **very** misled. "A toad, will she? I have never heard of such an art, but if it is possible, I would be very interested in learning it indeed. One never knows if he might do some 'toading' in the future."

Her slender brow lifted with pleasant surprise from the man's cynicism, though her face quickly bore impatience as she looked back to Daveth. "Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" Her eyes met the Circle mage's once more, softer, yet dominating – seductive, perhaps; he knew not of such things. "You there…handsome lad; tell me your name and I shall tell you mine: let us be civilized.

"I would ask a promise of you first: convince my companions you will not harm them, if only so the rest of our little chat will progress far smoother."

"Very well. You have stirred my curiosity, so your companions have my promise. Now: your name?"

Still not feeling as if it were particularly wise, he provided on his end of the bargain. "You can call me Aridias. Will a first name by itself suffice, or will you require a last to ensure our safety?"

"No, I do believe just the first met payment in full." She answered back in a humoring tone. "And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish."

"Morrigan…So you have been named – and no doubt lost some of your power in the process; an enigma of a 'Witch' is a great deal more terrifying than a known one."

"Interesting. Can I assume then, by such vaunted logic, that you have relinquished any power you once held as well?"

"Perhaps…If there was any to be had over you in the first place. Though, if you are playing by my rules, I did discover I'm terrifying. A fair trade, I would say."

The man had managed to tug another smile from her lips; he was quite…droll, though that would not save him from her interrogation.

"Let us stay focused, shall we? May I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest;" she motioned to it with her head before gazing back to him, "something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer"?" Alistair then spoke up. "You stole them, didn't you? You're…some kind of…sneaky…" he paused, looking away in thought before his brows furrowed with his capture of a proper accusation, "_witch_-_thief_!"

Aridias placed a hand to his shaking head from the poor, if not embarrassing attempt at wit.

"How very eloquent." Morrigan praised mockingly before letting out a single tsk. "Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I _suggest_ you return them."

Her golden eyes narrowed from his unimpressive warning as her arms crossed across her chest once more. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." She scoffed impatiently. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer, if you wish – I am not threatened."

"That is good, seeing as it was a suggestion and not a threat." The Circle mage cut in, having a feeling that things would not go on very well if those two continued talking. "If it was not you who removed what we search for, would you know who did?"

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your…mother?" He repeated back slowly; skeptically. "You attempt a joke?"

"If so, it seems the truthful rather than the funny sort, no?"

"Great!" Alistair clapped his hands together. "She's a thieving, weird-talking, _funny_ sort of witch."

"_Quite_ the resume."

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters." The woman's response was unpredictably jaded as she rested against a stone pillar, her gaze now out to the woods of which she spoke. "Flowers grow as well as toads…."

Aridias was once more taken aback by the fact that he could not, or even more so that he had no direct impetus to look away from her; this Morrigan's face, it showed…a glimmer of something he could not readily identify but found recognizable, if not disheartening. Something; something…It troubled him that he desired so to name it.

Even more so when it was no longer left exposed.

"If you wish it; I can take you to my mother." She rose from the pillar's embrace, stepping forth to stand in front of the men once more. "'Tis not far from here and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this…Morrigan's sudden appearance – it's too convenient." Alistair whispered suspiciously, looking out at the woman he spoke of in the corner of his eyes.

Aridias nodded: it was indeed odd that her once cold tone had so very changed after she discovered their purpose and role. "Even you must admit, he raises a fine point. First you think us nothing more than simple intruders, but now you suddenly wish to aid us?"

"Why not?" She tossed back, the very words laced with nonchalance. "I do not meet many people here, obviously. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"Some more than others…And with good reason, at that." Daveth answered, obviously wary of traveling alone with what he clearly thought a treacherous witch.

"And what of this mother you will present us too? Tell us more of her."

"She prefers her privacy, but I imagine she will be curious enough why you are here. Come. See for yourself."

"Fine;" the Circle mage answered, truly not seeing any other way of getting the treaties that would not cost them unnecessary time, "we have nothing more to lose and certainly little to gain from continuing to walk around aimlessly: I say we go with her."

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will – just you watch!" His fellow recruit warned dramatically.

"If the pot's warmer then this forest, it'll be a nice change." Jory told him back.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you."

Letting go of his reservations, Aridias did as she commanded and followed her in, trailing closely behind, an extremely suspicious, if not anxious Grey Warden and two scared senseless recruits who looked to wet themselves at any minute. It was no doubt because of his background with magic that he was not as fearful as the others, but he had heard rumors of renegades outside of the Circle, those who willingly defied it and the Chantry's laws in order to find some sort of freedom. Those whispered tales had seemed exciting, but struck his mind as legends at best; the name given for these ambitious rebels, apostates, even somewhat super-heroic as they fought Templars and learned dangerous, forbidden magic.

And here one supposedly walked before him: a woman like any other.

What was so daunting; so fantastical? Where laid the difference between her and him that she made these men so easily cower in their boots, fear for their very lives – even more so than his displays of magic could achieve? Was uncontrolled, uncensored and unsupervised magic so very superior to his own that he could not even begin to fathom it?

So many questions buzzed angrily in his head that it began to make his head hurt – that is, before the one he thought on acknowledged what he swore could not be heard.

"Gaze too long at that spot upon my back, and I fear you will burn a hole right through."

Chestnut eyes looking upward while a bit dazed from the sudden interruption to his musings, Aridias blinked away his daze. "Sorry?"

The woman turned her face only slightly to peer over her shoulder. "You have something you wish to know. Or perhaps it is more important or will be more satisfying only when you confirm it. I did mention that I might be willing to relinquish an answer earlier: delay it no longer – ask what you must."

"I…" The man began, only to find himself at a loss for words; her direct approach was unanticipated.

"_You _are a mage, are you not? You possess some command over the arcane arts?" His reply was cut off before it could even be delivered. "Surely seeing another mage outside of your Tower has filled you with dozens upon dozens of questions, even more so if this, in fact, _is_ your first time outside such a prison. I would even wager the feeling somewhat intolerable. So very close to true insight, yet uncertain if the source will avail you."

"Feel pity, do you?" He asked with a small smile as he regained his bearings. "And yet you describe this agony so well! Perhaps it is you who possess these burning questions inside; you've proven most inquisitive before and I would expect us to be just about the same degree of foreign to the other."

"Truly? 'Tis an amusing thought; I'll admit…But then should we simply not put each other out of our misery?"

"And blot all that mystery, intrigue, and introspection? Perish the thought, my dear Witch; we must make this as painfully slow as possible – only then will it be given value."

Halting completely to turn around, Morrigan faced the man with a look he had no quick defense for: a stunning face with an unmatched grin; an amalgamation of haughty and pleased; superiority and recognition; authority and deference. Was it possible to win something yet lose in that exact same moment?

"What an interesting little thing I've found in my Wilds today." Hypnotic eyes taking in his masculine features again, she chuckled as the perilous grin became what appeared to be an open smile. "I like you."

"Careful;" Alistair quickly warned, not favoring how chummy the witch was becoming with the new recruit, "first it's "_I like you_"…" He mocked in a higher pitch, "And then _ZAP_! Frog time."

"You sound so very anxious. Could it be that you wish to volunteer?" She questioned darkly. "I can certainly begin the process with you; I'd think you'd rather enjoy being a frog – you may even come to like it with time, no doubt comforted by the fact that it surely cannot be much worse than your existence as is."

"Oh, ha ha: _very_ funny. Now that you've made your second little joke of the day at my expense, I'd like to get back to us _silently _fearing for our lives while the dangerous witch leads us to even more danger. Thanks."

"You've only been able to catch the two?" Her smile again regained that mischievous quality while aimed in the former Templar's direction before she turned around and resumed leading once more. "But we are close now. This way."


	2. Bandages

And I'm back!!

Thanks for all the love people -- you're all awesome! I'm really glad to be contributing to some Morrigan goodness as well. SHE'S JUST SO AWESOME! XD

Unfornately, no one got the title right this time out, but good guesses! Try next time as well for C, you might just get it! I actually might come up with a REAL prize in the future...Hmmm...Maybe like the winner can request a letter title and I'll fufill your Morrigan fantasy? hahaha

This chapter is actually WAYYY earlier than originally planned, but I made a promise to SouthernCowgirl that I would do it for her, and I keep my promises darn it! I'm sure the rest of you won't mind. ;) Normally, however, I'm going to try to get every letter out on each Saturday of the week since again, they're short and I could probably accomplish that goal. It won't be a new chappie this Sat. of course, but next week, C will come out. Yaaaay!

Ok, so, I don't know if I'm alone here, but did anyone else think it was weird that your PC didn't react to being half-naked in Morrigan's hut after the Tower of Ishal? (raises hand) I sorta really did...And it will be explored! But now to give thanks to the reviewers I could NOT PM to say thanks to:

**Witness ****Gaxkang**: Thanks for being my first reviewer! I will indeed be going past where the game ended: I think it'll be interesting to theorize about the future for this couple. :D

**namelessone**: Thanks for reviewing as well and I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'll do my best to give you your Morrigan fix! ;)

On to the story!!!

* * *

The Wilds native, assigned task now complete, leisurely eyed what had to be her mother's latest thrall, and keeping her silence in the process. Unconscious, it was not as if the man could truly appreciate what would be measured as considerate on her part, though silent she remained if not from some minute sense of pity held for the fate of he and all those deemed exploitable by her mother; the woman, from childhood, had been rigorously disciplined and remembered well the punishments given for independent behavior: it was not worth the effort to find answers to the few queries that found their way to her head only to risk compromising a carefully sown plan her guardian had formulated.

Though the…cheeky Circle mage had, for a second time, found a role in her life; an unwanted if not dubious occurrence: there were no such fancies as coincidences when her mother was involved. If any one person was freshly revealed, and then presented on yet another occasion – well; there was little doubt in her mind that their presence had not been accounted for, if not naturally expected.

_And yet I wonder…Will you be the one to finally resist? Prove able to outmaneuver and outwit? Such a long string of failures predate you…. _

An incomprehensible murmur suddenly spilled from the Warden's lips as if he heard her internal ponderings and was determined to provide an answer, the man's brows then rutting tightly, likened to a child enduring some unspeakable nightmare. Though, few children met their fears with such undramatic results, she had to admit – his expression disclosed pain, yes, though he seemed fit to endure it…For how long, however; that, she knew, would be quite interesting to find out. No doubt he had either seen plenty of death or had come somewhat near it himself, though that was not surprising: Templars were not known for their grand civility.

But those were undesirable thoughts.

Morrigan's eyes focused once more on her resting ward, gaze trailing down to his heavily bandaged chest, watching the otherwise bare area gradually rise before falling back down to its original state.

_Hard to believe mere hours ago, said chest was the resting place of several deadly arrow heads._

His entire body had been **quite** the gory mess before her mother had brought him in for treatment; nothing but wound and blood; gash and metal, though she could still not figure out, for the life of her, why her mother wasted time healing not just one but two men whom, now that their precious order seemed all but destroyed, were utterly useless – that other whiny, whelp of a man being the exact personification of the word. The thought sought to drive her mad in fact, but she had had plenty of practice with her mother's…strategic nature with little to no explanation, that it no longer presented itself outwardly; it was all but proverbial now.

What was not as commonplace was the physical; she could find no point in denying it: the half-naked male sprawled out in front of her had alerted certain senses. Who knew such physique could lie beneath those garish Circle robes?

Not that such exposure was novel, surely; the woman had seen and been with many types of men before, of reasonably different body types, but this was…unanticipated, to say the very least – and thus fascinating. The use of the arcane arts naturally required sizeable mental aptitude and indomitable will more than anything else: physical prowess had little to do with it, yet his body appeared well cared for. He was certainly no burly warrior, but there were no superfluous reserves of fat clinging to his form that she could see – and though that fact proved misleading, his pale, copper skin revealed his sheltered origins.

Morrigan's hands reached out to his shoulder, fingernails delicately scraping along the ivory cloth bandages recently bound there before halting just above where they ended at his bicep; his skin looked almost fragile, as if no sun had properly gotten to it and even a simple touch might make the whole of it shatter into oblivion – yet even that held appeal in its own way. And what striking white hair he possessed! The contrast the loosened strands of his messy ponytail held against his skin were certainly eye-catching, the color so very rare for a person of his age, mage or no; there were tales she had heard that spoke of younger humans with white hair being wise beyond their years.

_And will you live up to these yarns? Prove wise as well as clever? _She wondered, remembering the moderate amount of wit the man had – more so then the other men he traveled with through the Korcari – and demonstrated before removing her touch and rising from the small chair she sat in. '_Tis a big role for an otherwise insignificant man…yet you will no doubt need it for the trials to come_.

Turning her back on the unconscious mage, the woman's mind returned to her other chores for the day since she had dallied long enough: namely to cook the dinner her mother and she…and perhaps even their 'guests' were to have tonight. Walking over to a tall, wooden bookcase against the left wall, she stood on her toes to locate some of the ingredients she needed for the stew she would brew over the roaring flames of the fireplace.

_There are the onions… _A finger roamed the air before her. _But what of the mushrooms I gathered but a night ago…? _

"…Urgh…_Ahh_-" Aridias hissed as a sharp pain shot throughout his entire body as he tried to rise up from the mattress beneath him far too fast, his back meeting the bed once more as his form became limp in an attempt to desist the throbbing. "Not…my best plan."

Morrigan, giving up her search after hearing the commotion, glanced in the man's direction before approaching him. "Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased…That is, if you see it fit not to injure yourself further. Then you would only be a nuisance."

"_Tempting_." He answered back, rubbing the corners of his now focusing eyes as they took in the foreign surroundings about him, "This place is unknown to me; would you mind revealing exactly where I am?"

"Back in the Wilds, of course. I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten, and I have just bandaged your wounds." She motioned to her handy work. "You are welcome, by the way."

The man arched a brow. "Oh? I did not realize there was such a time limit for gratitude. Though, if you'd grant me a selfish instant to re-establish consciousness…." He trailed wryly before examining what he could of himself; two things could be confirmed: one; he was indeed heavily bandaged from what was claimed to be her doing; and two…He grabbed a pillow from behind to cover at least some portion of his nakedness. "Let's see…A bed, an attractive woman, and me only in my smallclothes. Were you at least gentle? These bandages certainly speak ill of you."

She smiled; droll indeed. "'Tis an odd inquiry, at best: if not vulgar. Are you embarrassed, I wonder? Seeking the succor of compliment and humor to diminish your state of undress?"

"So you _did _catch that "attractive" bit. I would have preferred to be slightly more inconspicuous in its delivery; far more intrigue that way…Should I perhaps whisper next time?"

"Skirting the subject again, are we?"

"As speedily as my little tongue will allow." Aridias tsked. "I do it for my benefit, as well as your own, you know. If I were to truly answer your question and you reacted in a way that made me think my embarrassment actually influenced you, say…you gained enjoyment from the fact like some coy maiden: you would lose even more influence in our little power struggle. We were about even back at those ruins, were we not?" He grinned. "Yes? Then why not keep it that way; I rather enjoy our banter."

"That is under the presumption, of course, that I care anything for your allocation of it. Your power, to the best of my knowledge, gains me nothing – but enough of this pointless chatter; how does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

"I remember lighting the beacon and then being overwhelmed by darkspawn…Lots and lots of darkspawn. Then pain. And then darkness…."

Morrigan watched the flux of his facial features as he spoke: confusion; frustration; regret, brow burdened with a deep wrinkle as he seemed to try very hard to remember something of obvious importance; it was intriguing, really: rarely did her mother show such emotion openly or without purpose and she was sure she did not either.

"Flemeth rescued me, you said?" He abruptly asked of her, giving pause to her thoughts. "From the tower?"

"Yes; mother managed to save both you and your friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live." Feeling generous, she continued on with her explanation. "The man who was to respond to your signal _quit the field_: the darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned where massacred. Your friend…" she hesitated on how to explain such prattling with tact she usually found little use for, "He is not taking it well."

"My friend?" The concept was…unwelcome; ever since he and Jowen, his supposed best friend, had become estranged after his betrayal, he was far more careful with the use of the word. "You speak of Alistair?"

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before;" Morrigan nodded, "yes."

The man laughed from the candid response, not being able to help himself before wincing as another pain shot through his chest. "Ahh…I cannot even laugh without hurting myself; how cruel."

"That you were able to laugh at all is a wonder. Did I, by chance, not wrap your bandages tightly enough? I would be happy to rectify such a lapse in judgment."

Aridias released a short, yet still amused breath, not particularly seeking more pain. "No doubt I would lack the ability to speak with you at work…But since we're on such a delightful subject, were my injuries severe?

"They were, but I expect you shall be fine. Your wounds will still be tender when given to exertion, as you have already tested, but the darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."

"I'm touched. If one were to read between the lines, you appear almost concerned."

"Then I suggest you waste no more time reading what is not there. While there is some console in knowing that the effort I was forced to expend on you was not misapplied, there is little else."

"Your words – like daggers they are!" He exclaimed dramatically before sighing. "And here I thought the two of us would promptly fall for one another after such an intense trial…Well, this is _quite_ the setback."

"Indeed? And what happened to all that talk about "slow" and "painful" when it came to our relationship? You seemed content with such a method not long ago."

"True, but you must remember: this was before you saw me in my…" he grimaced, "condition."

"And we meet the avoided subject once more. Is it so unbearable to be viewed outside one's clothes?"

"I'm sorry; should I be enjoying this? A woman I barely know has seen me indecent!"

"Oh, do not be so childish. Better now than if you had known me more intimately; for the time being: it is simple: I am a woman, you are a man and I assumed we were both of age to be levelheaded. However," the apostate smirked, her fickle ways now sensing this could be used to her advantage, "you would have little way of knowing if I did not do far more than merely dress your injuries. Perhaps I…" Her eyes glanced down at the pillow protecting his modesty before flicking back up to his, "took a peek?"

Morrigan watched, with unreserved amusement, as her baiting had found its easy mark: the man's face had colored, though it seemed he tried to hide it, while he held the pillow closer to his body as if that would make his clothes suddenly appear; even the tip of his ears seemed to burn with his mortification.

"Well, there is certainly no doubt of your embarrassment now. Did I corrupt your poor chastity, little Circle mage?"

"You're heartless." Aridias mumbled under his breath, still trying to recover from her blunt implication; he was sure what she said was in jest, but he had never been…teased in such a manner: he had no defense for it.

The woman considered it. "Hmm…perhaps…You would not be the first whom has branded me as such."

"Shocking." He stated sarcastically, before finally feeling the burn ebb away from his cheeks. "Now that you've had your fun with me – what of Alistair? Is he all right?"

"Hurrying along the subject so that I am inclined to forget, are you? And what if I say 'nay'; who has said that I have had all my fun with you yet?"

"Quite the sadist, I see. What gives you right to vex me so?"

"You reside in my house? You occupy my bed? You breathe because of my kin's influence?" The woman chuckled. "Choose."

"Gloat if you must, but you have merely caught me off guard, woman – _once_ – but no more; I will not so easily be the willing target the next time you should attempt such a stunt."

"Is that so? We shall see. I will yield – for now. You questioned me on the condition of your friend, yes?" Her smile dimmed at the thought of that fool. "He is fine…as you are; he waits for you outside by the fire, though I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish."

The mage frowned from her callous comment. "He has lost much – will you not allow him to grieve for his friends as he will?"

"And you believe said friends would encourage that senseless blubbering?" she scoffed, "If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note."

"Not everyone is as strong as you."

"That much is clear."

Aridias closed his eyes before shaking his head: he wondered on what sort of life she had led that made her lack basic instincts like compassion and sympathy for others.

"Morrigan;" he opened his eyes to see golden ones staring back at him questioningly, "you've done much for me here – so much for the both of us. Despite anything I've said that claims otherwise, I am truly grateful: thank you for bandaging me up as you did."

_What manner of trickery…. _

The woman was now the one caught completely unaware by his words, mind immediately alerting her to the possibility that he only desired to compensate her for her own mocking earlier, but he…The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice: it conveyed nothing short of absolute seriousness toward the situation. She found herself momentarily speechless, her brain racking its archives for a proper response; what did one do in these instances? She had never been thanked – not sincerely; not like this.

"I…you are welcome," Morrigan had managed to make it more statement then question, "though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

She wished to be off this topic – quickly. It made her…ill at ease to hear such placates.

Yet the Circle mage only grinned. "Now that I finally give you the gratitude you yearned for, you shirk away from it?"

"I "_shirk_" from nothing; I only see it fit to give proper acknowledgment to the real source of your recovery and not the person who simply bound what had already been healed."

"Well, you helped keep my insides in;" he clarified, lightly patting his bandaged chest, "you should not deride your role."

"Enough. Mother asked to see you when you awoke, and we have postponed your talk long enough."

"I have more questions for you, if you don't mind."

She forced herself to be unruffled. "I do not mind. Take your time."

It was not surprising, the taken aback look donning his face; her unproblematic acquiesce was out of character, but she was quite eager to take any steps toward the exit of their current discussion.

"Do you know if we are safe here? Surely the darkspawn did not disappear; where are they?"

"We are safe, for the moment, at least. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave, 'tis uncertain what will happen. The horde has moved on so you might avoid it."

"Solely magic keeps the darkspawn away; what sort of spell is this?"

"One that is no doubt as ancient as it is powerful – beyond that, there is little else I could tell you."

"Then let's move on: I cannot formulate a good enough reason as to why Flemeth would save Alistair and I; have you any thoughts?"

"_A good question_. I wondered, and continue to wonder, at that myself, but she tells me nothing. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach or perhaps she searched for the two of you specifically…Whatever the case may be, I would have rescued your king. A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you."

Aridias slowly nodded, head full of thoughts. "Much, much higher…."

Morrigan smiled from his logic. "What a sensible attitude. Mother is seldom sensible, however."

"How did she manage to rescue us, exactly? The entrance to Ishal was no doubt blocked by the overwhelming waves of darkspawn – what other entry was there to be?"

"For mother: wherever she chose it. She turned into a giant bird and _plucked _the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon." Witnessing the skeptical, yet still speculative expression on the mage's face, she simply shrugged. "If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother yourself. She may even tell you."

"Do not think that I don't believe such a thing could never happen; I have seen many things that defy reason, but her intentions are clouded in mystery…Why rescue us? Of all the people there – of the king; of Duncan – even Loghain: why two inexperienced Grey Wardens who were about to die?" He waved off an impending comment. "Never you mind; you've already said that you know nothing of it. A more pertinent query: are we the only survivors left from that battle?"

"You are not, but the rest are all stragglers that are long gone. You do not want to see what is transpiring in that valley as of now."

He frowned deeply once more, a sinking feeling now in the pit of his stomach. "Why? What is happening?"

Morrigan stared at him unblinkingly; she actually did think it would be better if he knew nothing of it, at least in his state. "Are you sure you wish to know?"

Swallowing to wet his increasingly dry throat, the man nodded without hesitation. "The fates of those left behind would not have been pleasant…But few things in the land we live in truly are. Tell me."

"Very well." She complied, letting go of her reservations of holding back for his sake. "I had a good view of the battlefield. 'Tis a grisly scene: there are bodies everywhere, corpses as far as the eye can see, and the darkspawn swarm them…feeding, I think. They also look for survivors with even the tiniest breath of life within and drag them back down beneath the ground. I cannot say why."

Morrigan watched in silence as Aridias simultaneously rubbed his forehead with his hand and temple with his thumb; they were harsh strokes, as if he wanted to pound the words she gave him into his head despite the obvious resistance against such mental images. She denied herself feeling any sense of remorse: he had been properly warned yet he asked for the worst of it anyway – his suffering was his own fault.

"You said…" His voice was softer; lower, "There were survivors, yes? Is there any way…Could they be rescued? Helped?"

"Only if you are willing to run into the midst of the horde, then perhaps." Something about the fact that he actually seemed to be considering such a foolish notion, weighing the pros and cons of the idea exasperated her; had he abandoned the sensible nature she saw not too long ago? "Instead of dwelling on survivors best left forgotten, might I suggest realizing the importance of your own life and what was done to preserve it? I am sure Mother did not make such a sacrifice just to see you get yourself killed in some inane show of bravado afterward."

The look in his brown eyes clearly displayed his anger and despondency at her suggestion, but the woman could see that lucid rationale had won out; the man was, if not many other things, truly sensible as she had said before.

"He was a hero to so many…How could he do something like this?" His question did not seemed to be directed to her, but to the chair; the pelts; the bed – to everything that made up his surroundings as if they were responsible for the world's cruelty. "How could Loghain – a Teryn – kill a king he no doubt held in his own arms as a babe, and then murder one of the more pivotal activists at stopping the Blight? What brand of arrogance is this?"

"I do not know who this Loghain is, nor do I know anything of his motivations. Perhaps ask Mother of it."

Once more, the Wilds native found herself in an uncertain situation, though she could not perceive why. There was no point in asking such pointless questions to a person who could not give a proper response or to inanimate objects that could not speak – why could he not simply accept that this Loghain character discovered a way to obtain more power and sacrificed armies to seize it? It was not as if the method was new; no, it was age old: sacrifice for power: an anecdote she knew well. To revel on what-ifs and alternates when the past could not be changed was a waste of time; even more so was to denounce your own survival to try and do so. Nothing was more important than one's own survival – **nothing**.

"I think…I've asked enough questions." The pillow slid away from his hands, modesty no longer a concern as he slowly rose from the mattress and looked to her, but not at her; eyes glazed and unfocused.

"I agree." Her tone was aloof and unsympathetic, best not give way to hope for something that was not there. "'Tis time you speak with Mother; recover your clothes from that chest there and be on your way."


	3. Coin

And Coin, everybody!

Yes; yes: I know I'm late, but I have a valid excuse! Work completely kicked my butt since I've had to close since last Thursday and these last minute holiday shoppers are NO joke. The only reason I'm getting it out now, I have no doubt, is because I had today off - and it is GLORIOUS! :D

But hopefully, it wasn't that bad of a wait since it's only Wed. I'm going to say right now though, there will be no new chappie this Saturday since it's Christmas and I've learned my lesson the first time around, but this should tie you over until then. I had several people guess that this chapter was going to have something to do with cooking, and while that wasn't the title, it's such a cute concept, I thought I would include it in here as well: I think we all wanted to see a dinner scene with out favorite witchy chef. ;) Keep guessing though, guys; I love seeing them in the reviews!

And once more, gotta thank the reviewers who I could not PM back:

**Witness Gaxkang!: **Thanks for your compliments: I'm glad that I'm portraying Morrigan so well! And silly; you should know that the cake is a lie! ;P Your quote from the game, however, was one of the reasons I decided to have cooking done in this chapter, so your guess wasn't entirely unsuccessful! Morrigan's so cute when she's about to kill Alistair! :3

**Orange: **Thanks! It's fun writing as her, really - she has such an amazing personality, I just have to do my best!

**Relax: **Here's your update! haha I'm glad that you were able to find this story as well! I think it's just as unfortunate that they're aren't many Morrigan fics out there - which is why I made this one. She deserves better than that. ;D

Now, on to the story! Enjoy!

* * *

A dull red bowl, of what no doubt enclosed flavorless gruel slathered with gravy and then called edible, rested before the uninterested mage that sat at the end of the long counter, his half drawn chestnut eyes absently blinking in its direction before promptly looking elsewhere.

But he was being cruel.

He was sure that the cook who prepared his meal had gone through extreme pains to impress the honored 'savior of Ferelden', surely forsaking no pleasantry or detail in order to please him, using the very finest ingredients coin could buy…And it was appreciated: even though the very aura about the man did not seem to express such. It was surely melodrama on his behalf, but he did not have a taste for what the small tavern chef had so artfully prepared, nor did he imagine any other plate the woman in the busy kitchen could produce would meet his tumultuous palate: as what seemed the case with him recently and in the past, the frustrated mage wanted what he could not have – and what all the coin in Ferelden could not grant him.

**Her** cooking.

_Ah, yes… _He thought with a reserved smile, as if wishing to spare the memory from spectators so that it could not be ruined, _Morrigan's meals: as perilous as they were tasty. _

The way her boiling broth burned all the way down his throat to churn angrily in his stomach as if in revenge, the indignant stare she gave them all when prepping their meals, the open threats of contamination if even one of them had a snide remark…Though, it was always he who got away with saying anything; he the only one sly enough to slip in two words and come out with a full conversation; a heated debate or entertaining repartee: what educational dialogues those were.

Sharp and barbed things flying from their lips – and at such speeds!

It was the only time, he could remember, when she had fully resigned herself to being near the rest of the camp, though it was less frequently so as their party grew…But those first days of camp, the weeks of infancy that could no more prep them for the veracity of their fearsome task then a mother bird swiftly kicking her young out of the nest when deeming it old enough to take flight. He has a thought that when it was just the five of them, they were not some organized force with the sole purpose of gathering an army to take down the imminent threat of the darkspawn, but just some bizarre, motley crew that performed odd jobs to scrape up enough money to provide for themselves: two Wardens; one a novice, the other barely initiated; an apostate; a Chantry sister, and a qunari murderer. It was certainly awkward, the halting first steps of a young babe into an unknown world, and unfamiliar as they gathered around the first fire, the embers drawing its captives into an easy trance as Morrigan grudgingly stirred her potted creation.

And similar to the myriad of ingredients thrown into that pot at what seemed to be capricious chance; so were they as a group, different motives, seen and unseen, simmering together until camaraderie came to a boil – and ultimately, creating what turned into something surely unexplainable by he and her. Those moments, he treasured as much as the ones that spoke of longing, and even the times spent in pleasure – for if they never had those talks; that proximity: he never would have been able to get as far as he did, and she would not have opened up to him as she did. Perhaps, he muses, he had already been captured, even then – the woman was just so very alien and ambiguous, meeting his every trait with an opposite and countering his very existence with her own.

Digging into his pocket for payment, the mage took out a single sovereign of gold, skillfully flipping the coin between his fingers as he released an amused breath from the coincidence.

_The opposite side of my coin._

The words triggered a memory as he felt his mind gradually tiptoe back to the past, the journey familiar as he made his way to inattentiveness; allowing the comfort, if not anesthesia, of distant memories to ease his harried mind.

* * *

"_Cooking_! _Cooking_! _Cooking_!"

The two Grey Wardens happily chanted stridently, their simple song; Alistair clapped his hands together for a beat while Aridias tapped a foot repeatedly to the ground to accompany him with more rhythm – it all, to both of their delight, greatly adding to the aggravation already held by their impromptu apostate cook.

"How very appropriate." Morrigan's words, clearly vexed, came at the two like blades. "Two men, and believe me when I say this is leaving my lips with only the greatest of hesitation, howling and beating their chests for mere food. Tell me, is it really so effortless to slide so far down the evolutionary chain, or are the two of you merely experts on such matters?"

"And so the claws are out. This could not be so simple a matter as pride, could it? A wounded ego from fixing our dinner? Certainly, this could not be _so _far below bandaging our wounds?"

Usually, the Circle mage was never such an advocate for any one person's displeasure, but there was something different about this Witch of the Wilds, something that made him fairly eager to put her into uncomfortable situations…That, and it was what he considered proper retribution for her relentless teasing back at her hut – he deserved payback and he intended to collect in full.

The woman's exceptional golden gaze sharply landed on his audacious chestnut ones, seeming to size the man up as he could not properly read her thoughts: one second she seemed irked from his insolence, the next somewhat impressed that he had such nerve at all.

"Bandage that one's wounds?" She lazily directed her stirring utensil at Alistair, leaving no room for wonder. "Do not be insulting – Mother had the pleasure of patching that one up…Despite my urging that it was an utter waste of talent and time. What gain is there in saving a fool? Better to do the world a service and let it die quickly."

The ex-Templar raised his hand and waved it slightly. "Yes – hello there: Alistair, here. Just wanted to inform you that I am, in fact, _in _the vicinity and that I have not suddenly been struck deaf; I'll repeat: not suddenly deaf, sitting right here – can hear every word."

"Oh? So there is no excuse for your idiocy then?" The apostate resumed stirring her creation. "Good to know..." Glancing back to the other Grey Warden, her eyes narrowed. "As for you: is that other woman not suitable? One would at least think if your mind was indeed maladjusted enough to recruit her, there would be at least some use in it. Perhaps she would even enjoy such a trivial thing, claiming it the will of that Maker of hers that the two of you were not left to starve."

Aridias grinned. "Rather quick at making enemies, are you?"

"I would say it is _you _who are too quick to befriend would be adversaries. First a Templar and then a member of the Chantry; granted, they both failed miserably at their roles, but 'tis strange company for a mage to keep, Circle or no. I do have a wonder on if you will soon just lie down and wait to be executed – neck laid bare for the blade suspended high. "

"Not to ruin such a fun conversation, but if we could have more cooking done and less shadowy forecasts of doom from the creepy witch: my stomach and I would appreciate it. Disturbing behavior, oddly enough like our Morrigan's here, for example, gives me a surprisingly bad case of indigestion." Alistair interjected derisively, rubbing the area to prove its point further.

Their cook's slender brows furrowed with disdain. "This "creepy witch" thinks you would do best to mind that mouth of yours while she is the one making your meal, lest you forget how easily she can poison it. Hmm…Perhaps one that will swell you throat and tongue so that you will no longer need to fear indigestion as you will barely be allowed to consume any foods, let alone breathe." She smiled, a wicked little thing spreading on her face. "That part, I will throw in free of charge."

"_Right_ – so, shutting up then. I'll…" He jabbed his thumb in behind him in some unknown direction before rising from the ground, "be over there."

Aridias laughed, clapping his hands together several times in applause. "And then there were two. _Very _nice."

She inclined a curious brow to the man. "And yet you remain; what a remarkable thing to stay when threatened with poison – a remarkable folly, at any rate. Why have you not tagged along with the Templar? Is that not your way?"

The mage tapped a finger to his check in mock thought. "Hmm…Perhaps I should leave; left to our own devices, we are too similar. Two people as cynical as we two make for a rather depressing conversation, I'm sure." He cocked his head to the side. "And correct me if I am wrong, but I believe I was not the one given promises of poison. This could be my manly ego speaking, but I would wager I prove too interesting for you to kill off so recklessly. Someone's plan would certainly be dashed by the act…Though it remains to be seen if it will be yours or your mother's – perhaps even both."

She chuckled. "Still clinging to your skepticism, I see. You do not trust me, I take it? Or could that be fear in those eyes?"

"Of what could happen if I am not wary; yes." He answered gravely, not at all pleased with the thought that he was saved only to be a minion. "Ally or no, I would do well to learn even a little on my…generous benefactor. Is she even your real mother, for one?"

"'Twas she who raised me and thus I consider her my mother, born from her womb or not. 'Tis what you meant, yes?"

"I did; it is just that, she is so old – and you could not be more than-" Aridias shook his head, abandoning his current route, "but it is not important. What I mean to convey is that it is difficult just to imagine her as…"

"Young? Married? Pregnant?" Morrigan supplied, one by one, reading his thoughts.

"Any of those will do."

"Will they? Exactly who has said she was any of those things? I certainly did not."

"A strange response: every being is young at some point in their life; surely, Flemeth is no exception to that rule, legend or no. "

"My mother is an exception to a great many things in this world, Warden. You would do well not to underestimate her."

"Just looking at that woman makes me uneasy; she is like an illusion: old woman; apostate; witch – I cannot seem to grasp her." He answered, before sighing. "Though I must sound unappreciative – it is not as if I were the one to save myself – I am not seeking to make you the villain in any sense of the word; the string of circumstances is…odd, however. Some things refuse to be resolved: for example, Flemeth's rescue. What did she seek in us that could not be found in a Warden veteran – save naivety?" The man's brows furrowed indignantly, "I will not be so easily taken advantage of; nor will I be some puppet just to be discarded when its purpose is fulfilled; surely it would have been better to have just died otherwise."

"My, my; such strong words from this Circle mage! Were you not a slave of that Tower not long ago? A vassal to the Chantry and their minions? In my mind, if this grand ulterior motive you fear is true and so malevolent, it would be an easy transition, would it not? A role I am certain a pawn like yourself would be quite used to."

The mage glared, feeling anger burn in his chest from her comment but resenting it – why should her opinion matter? "How dismissive; this from the Witch of the Wilds who despises those simple enough to believe everything they hear? Have you been to this Tower you speak so authoritatively on? Have you lived there personally – slept in its rooms and walked its halls, Templar's eyes ceaselessly watching? No?" He answered for her. "Then do not judge me as if you have. Grant me the same train of thought, the simple consideration I have granted you when refusing to paint you as a blasphemous traitor."

"Oh?" She halted her stirring and placed her full attention on him, "Do you not? How unexpected…if not a particularly unusual statement – what am I to be to you then? The rebellious witch? The jaded abomination?"

"My gregarious cook?"

"Unlikely…."

"Ah, well; one must try. Though I suppose a surly demeanor is not so hard to swallow when one's mouth is full with free meals." Closing his eyes from the comforting heat of the fire, he merely shrugged. "Why a witch or an abomination as your only options, however? Is there some guarantee you've received that I will so easily side with the Chantry's views? I will not."

"One startling revelation after another, is it? What dizzying turns this discussion has taken." The woman remarked wryly, donning an appraising smile. "Was a revolutionary perched high in that dark, sealed tower?"

"Perhaps…Though forgive me for lacking excitement on being named a revolutionary for what should be common sense. If there is one thing I've learned at the Tower, it is that the Chantry seeks to treat every mage as if they personally were the one responsible for the Blight: one group's mistakes cannot be severe enough to make all arcane practitioners a stigma to this land. No mage asks for these powers; there is no multiple choice provided in the womb – you are either born with it or you are not. I cannot accept that it is considered an indisputable fact that a child with arcane abilities is unquestionably more dangerous than one without, exiled from their home with only a judgment on how dangerous they are and will become. Where is this logic ascertained? Is a child who wields magic any more lethal than another with a dagger?" His mouth twitched downward into a grimace, face now expressing his extreme dissatisfaction while he vented on the neglected topic.

"'Tis certainly reasonable questions you ask – but, for now, let us regard a query of my own. Is it the master or the slave to be put to trial for the imprisonment of any group?"

Aridias's eyes opened once more, ire evident in his chestnut orbs. "No mage has asked to be a slave."

"And what great strides have been taken because one merely asked of it? Asking anything of anyone and expecting proper results is an endless and foolish road: doing, however; _taking_, is far more effective. If these Circle mages are so unsatisfied with their current situation, why do they remain in it? If not one is malcontent over such a thing and all are too weak-willed to do anything about it, then let them have their fate – I will not waste pity on those who bring about their own undoing."

"So is that all I am to you? A sheep waiting for the slaughter?"

"_No_." She said the word as if nothing less could be further from the truth, though laced with sarcasm. "You would be the one that has escaped, would you not?" Morrigan questioned back, pausing as she reached for a wooden tray of chopped up spices and deposited them into her broth. "And turned Grey Warden, as well. _Quite_ the accomplishment, little sheep."

He snorted. "Of course, the only compliment you would have for me would be a backhanded one." The man released another sigh, his body relaxing from the fire's touch once more. "Talking with you should be classified as a contact sport…Or at least, one shouldn't engage in it when still injured."

"I am surprised you have such stamina as well; one would think after completing all those tasks on that board in Lothering, you would lie comatose once more."

"Yes, well; unfortunately, selling my battered body on the streets did not pull in quite as much gold as I thought. And here I thought women enjoyed the 'wounded' veteran look: yet another disappointment."

"Oh? I would imagine that body of yours would catch a fairly large sum, despite the scars and reopened wounds from the exertion of fighting. No doubt Mother anticipated your foolishness; she found cause to place extra bandages in my pack, along with other ointments and herbs."

"Once more I find you precariously leaning toward actual concern; I take back what I said: perhaps there is hope for our ill fated affair yet. Will you give us another chance?"

She sighed; the way an instructor did with a tiring pupil. "I have warned you before on being a nuisance, and I would prefer not to have to spend more time on you then what is needed. Take that however you wish."

Aridias tsked. "Ah – forever the tease. You dangle a compliment around, baiting your poor and unsuspecting prey before viciously snapping the line back up and leaving them hopelessly unsatisfied. What a vicious trap you are."

"An attractive analogy: I have never been described in such a way – how…curious." The apostate seemed to taste the word in her mouth before deeming it the correct adjective to use in their situation.

"Are you displeased?"

"Quite the contrary." Her matchless golden stare pierced through his own, the smirk on her dark lips numbing his defenses. "If anything, saying such has made you more impressive in my eyes."

He quickly sought to sever her gaze in an attempt to break the spell. "I have questions."

"'Tis an amusing start: you avert your eyes so hastily from my own and then attempt to change the subject? How am I supposed to view this, I wonder? Is it to be endearing or cowardly, _hmm_?"

"I see you are stubborn…as well as blunt. Are you such a glutton for others' embarrassment?"

She laughed. "When as entertaining as what you so readily offer; you cannot be surprised?"

"Vexatious, woman: will you answer my questions or not?"

"Becoming testy, are we?" Her smirk persisted. "Ask: I may have answers."

"I seek to know more on your motivations; you seemed genuinely surprised when Flemeth forced you along with us – do you truly know nothing of her plans?"

"I do not."

He had not expected such a clipped reply, but continued despite the fact. "Yet she so promptly sends her only daughter away on this perilous journey without reservation with two Wardens, fates unknown?"

"As I have said, my mother rarely makes me privy to her schemes, but from what I have gathered, the darkspawn are a threat even one as powerful as she must acknowledge – the Blight must be stopped, and you and that buffoon are the only ones deemed suitable enough to do so; my presence here is merely a means to an end."

"You sound so very matter of fact when saying such things." Aridias commented, taken aback by her composed demeanor. "Do you even know of the world outside the Wilds? It was obvious that you were not pleased to leave your home of how many ever years despite Flemeth's claims to the contrary."

Morrigan sighed impatiently from the man's digging: why could he not simply leave these things unexplained? "Our recent excursion to Lothering was not my first departure from my home; I have been to the village from time to time both by circumstance or inquisitiveness, watching its people and pondering what curious beings they are. On occasion, I purchased goods from the village merchants. There I spoke with men, a little; there, they stared at me and knew me as an outsider."

There was no doubt that she spoke the truth there; the man easily remembered the wary stares that she received – though it was not as if he had not had his fair share of stares as well. He the unescorted mage without a Templar guardian and she the unapologetic apostate that unblinkingly stared down each and every potential threat, even once they entered the town's crowded Chantry – no doubt the fact that the town was in utter chaos coming to their aid.

"Mother wishes me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the Wilds." She continued to explain, her tone conveying slight bitterness as she placed a cover over the simmering stew, giving the time for the contents inside to naturally dissolve and condense. "Even she was not born there."

"And what is it that you want?"

The words surprised even him as soon as they left his lips, brow rutted low; it was such an inane question. What should he care if she did not wish to leave her home? He was the victim here, not her…And yet, his curiosity would not let him rebuke it.

"What I "_want_"," the woman reiterated sardonically, before her expression softened as she looked to him, the slightest hesitation from his thoughtfulness before continuing, "is to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind. So, yes; this is what I want."

Aridias, sensing her honesty, dissected her every tone as they transitioned; the longing for freedom; the ache for travel; the hopelessness for what would never probably happen. It all struck such a deep cord inside the mage, though his own desires were far simpler: while she wanted mountains, he was content to be able to feel the dirt under his feet, the earthy mixture in his hand. Her vast ocean was anything but his polluted Lake Calenhad. And while she desired a city, Lothering itself had proved amazing enough to him with its many buildings and variety of people – the open space itself that was there for him to wander was almost irresistible; no walls, no guards, no restrictions.

"I can…empathize with such desires." He finally remarked back softly, chestnut orbs unfocused as they no longer saw what was before them. "And yet, I cannot. While I would love to see the same things, experience the wonders nature has to offer that I have only seen in books, I would settle for far less." Regaining proper vision, the mage looked up to the night sky, fingers tracing across every twinkling star he saw, linking them together. "To suddenly have access to so much; to know I've missed out on so very many things since childhood…It makes me almost want to run back to the Tower just so it won't be true: to remain oblivious to my own ignorance." Glancing back down, his eyes found their way back to hers. "Do you have similar thoughts? Is it all so overwhelming at times that your only wish is to go back home?"

Morrigan clicked her tongue, brow knitting tightly in exasperation. "Precisely what reaction do you expect to such an absurd question?" Her eyes narrowed, "Is this the part where we become intimate? Am I to weepingly bare my soul to you now, blubbering helplessly in your lap while awaiting comfort?"

"You do not have to be so scathing. I only wished to see if you could empathize as well, not demean you…" He answered back quietly, before cocking his head to the side with a small smile, "Though I have been told before that my lap is particularly suitable for blubbering of all sorts. I won't name names, of course, but let's just say it was Alistair."

His jest, the Circle mage noticed, made her struggle, if only slightly, to keep her biting temperament and peeved expression.

"A defense mechanism, is it? What an odd man you appear to be."

Aridias chuckled. "Compared to whom? How many other men have you had the pleasure to meet?"

She raised a brow to him. "An intriguing string of words: "pleasure" and "meet" have many occurrences in my dealings with men. Do you wish for me to elaborate?"

"I…" he flushed lightly from the connotation her words exuded, "meant their personalities. Surely none of them have been confined to an isolated tower for the majority of their lives."

"'Tis true enough. You are like a child in many respects; a child whom has taken the form of a man, so innocent and inquisitive, are you."

"I believe you have your own innocence about you – you are brutally honest at most times and unquestionably candid in all others. Perhaps, that is why I am so "inquisitive": you are distant, yet familiar." Digging into the pocket of his mage robes, he pulled out one of the freshly accumulated sovereigns they had earned from their mercenary work, smoothing the textured surface with his thumb. "Here; the two of us are like the opposite ends of a coin, don't you think?"

"An interesting theory." The woman replied, deciding to humor him as she turned away.

He presented the tail face of the coin to her. "You, the exotic Witch of the Wilds," He flipped the coin, "I, the policed Circle mage; yet we both have knowledge of the arcane arts – we both were denied a 'normal' existence. Yet…how fascinating…."

"Go on..."

"Well, as any coin, we are allowed to subsist as long as we are in our natural state: faced away from each other. But now the two of us have met…It is as if parallel lines are crossing." He shook his head, mystification evident, "What does one side of the coin say to the other it thought did not exist?"

"That their broth will become cold if they waste time over thinking such useless things." She answered edgily, handing him a wooden bowl she had newly filled with her creation. "We are not coins, but people – and as people, we have instincts and proclivities that cannot be so neatly wrapped up into such simple explanations. Speculation, my little sheep, is a fool's game: only time will tell what is in store for the two of us."

Taking the bowl from her grasp with a nod, Aridias thanked her before tipping the object up to his lips – immediately flinching as the boiling hot liquid burned his tongue, as well as his esophagus when he swallowed it down, knowing it would be a far worse fate if he spit it out in front of its creator.

"_By the Maker: it's searing_!"

"And it appears the opposite of my coin is a fool. Were you not right there when I filled your bowl only seconds ago? I said that it would _become _cold, not that it already is."

"Baw…_mah_ _tongue_…." Aridias whined as he stuck the organ out while he spoke in an attempt to show her its burn. "I won't beh able tah tast anything for _wees_!"

"Good; surely, that means there will be one less to cook for." Rolling her eyes at his added displays of stupidity, Morrigan turned to the camp. "Idiot, bard, and qunari – the food has been prepared. May I suggest eating it quickly?"

"Wait…" Alistair trailed warily as he saw the other Warden in pain when he approached, "What happened to Aridias? Why is his tongue all swollen and…_Oh, Maker's breath_ – you went and _poisoned_ him, didn't you? Someone get some water or…_s_-_something_!" He shouted, frantically looking about before he began running around in circles, looking for which he requested.

"You didn't really poison him, did you?" Leliana asked the apostate, both their eyes on the flailing ex-Templar as he now tried to beat the toxin out while slapping a hand against the other's back, repeating 'breathe, damn you' and 'if you can survive the darkspawn taint, you can live through this' over and over.

"Don't be foolish."

"Then why not tell Alistair? He's becoming hysterical."

She chuckled. "Because 'tis amusing, of course."

The other tsked. "You planed this all along, didn't you?"

"Perhaps…."


	4. Dreams

And D = dreams! Tell me, were you all pleasantly surprised? ;)

Well, I'll admit that I am immensely pleased: over 30 reviews and I was only at my third chapter! For a Morrigan fic, not too shabby, eh?

I am extremely glad that all of you are getting your fix with this story too -- that's just the best feeling in the world. I know because I'm just as anxious to read the same: I've said this in some of my review replies, but anyone who wishes to write a fic like this, please do so! I always look forward to more Morrigan goodness!

Unfortunately, here comes the bad news: I'm back in school, and as a result, I will not be able to get these chapters out as soon as I have now and I need to give attention to my other fics as well. I know: so sad -- but I promise not to neglect this story TOO harshly. It will be completed and I will try to complete it before forever.

But enough of the talk: thank you to all my reviewers and now to get the ones I could not reply back to:

**Witchy Bee**: I could totally see Alistair doing it too! I'm glad you liked it! And do I use a lot of big words? I never noticed before now: it's probably a mixture of how I envision the characters to speak and my own vocabulary lol Thanks for the review!

**Witness Gaxkang!: **Well, I don't have much else to say other than THANKS! :) I'm glad that you continue to enjoy these chapters, even given me the praise of capturing Alistair correctly as well. You were the one who got this review thing started, you know? ;) Thank you so very much!

**md: **Thank you! I hope you find this installment good as well!

**Unamed Reader: **:D She's my favorite character too...Besides, Aridias, of course! haha

I can't be a 100 percent sure that I can guard you against spoilers, however: I am only a D, and therefore at the beginning of their relationship so, depending on where you are right now, it should be all right. You could always skip the chapter that you suspect has spoilers, though....

* * *

There had to be hundreds of them.

Perhaps even more as their numbers perplexed the eye, the sickening green fog enveloping them adding to the effect: they appeared without end and, after a while, animated dots blended into a single, riotous sea. Row after vicious row, wave after dark, cruel wave, the darkspawn were legion, seeming to fill every inch of his quiescent mind as each one seemed to taunt him, screaming their defiance into the air, and his imminent death, into the night. Suddenly, the distant aerial view was no longer as the perspective changed drastically, the abrupt transfer dizzying as the creatures now had definition on their horrendous, decaying faces: all exuded inhuman roars and shrieks, their armored bodies shaking with impatience and hostility as they thrust their weapons upward or toward each other. Another chaotic shift, and it was as if the mage was face to face with one of horrors himself, its visage like that of a rotting mountain: rough, jagged corners met unstable line; the hardened features appearing to deteriorate from what was obviously the taint's influence. The hurlock parted its spiky maw, letting out a snarl before returning to its task, both hands gripping limp human limbs, soldiers that were unmistakably from Ostagar, as it dragged their mauled bodies uncaringly against the ground to some unknown location; the fact that it remained unknown being the rather swift approach of an axe until the scene then began pulsating with an enigmatic image, veering harshly yet again and without pause this particular time as it depicted an inferno; rock; a bridge, and then another view of the flickering flames as the pulsations became more and more frequent until finally exploding into a blinding, white light.

It would not be the end. The lead player had yet to make its appearance.

A piercing roar, distinctive as much as it was fearsome, split the very air in two as the dragon's countenance was seared into his brain once more, demanding fealty and compliance to the command it gave while pounding its spiky feet, making the ground underneath tremble with respect: unleash total ruin on the surface world while leaving no trace of what existed before; twist and taint every living thing found until they firmly echoed the darkness they themselves possessed within. The beast pauses only to inhale, rear back its head and long neck, and release yet another terrible roar with a commanding beat of its powerful wings; fire accompanied the penetrating sound as a strong billow passed through rows of ivory fangs, the mage feeling its heat licking his skin as if he were right next to it, flames burning him alive with the most unimaginable pain. Falling to his knees, he rebelliously clasped his smoldering hands to his ears, clawing at them in an attempt to shut out the beast's dire orders that bombarded his senses, before their eyes suddenly connected; hunter and prey. The dragon's beady orbs gazed directly at him, acknowledging his existence while simultaneously claiming it as an utterly futile effort.

_We are strong; we are many, and we are coming. _It relayed, with undeniable vigor, all of Ferelden's imminent demise, guaranteed by both itself and its dark minions as flashes of their previous destruction replayed in his head. _There is no refuge. And there is nothing in this world that could save you now. _

* * *

Aridias immediately bolted up the very second his dream released him, feeling a cold sweat drape his entire body as his breaths were ragged and clipped, the man only subsiding to shakily swallow in an effort to ease his dry throat. Instinctively looking round his tent for any possible sign of danger before he found there was none, he lifted both hands to his face, squinting in the darkness to see if there were any burns or other lacerations before dropping back to his covers and sighing tiredly from his witless behavior: he was still in his tent, and they were still camped right outside of Redcliffe.

"Another of those dreams…" He groaned in discomfort as his robes clung to the now clammy skin of his back unpleasantly from added pressure, "_Lovely_…."

While it was not the first time he had dreamed of the archdemon or the darkspawn – or even the second, the mage luckily had no audience for this particular reverie as he resided in his tent. It was not as if he did not appreciate Alistair's concern the first time it had happened, but it was something he was sure that, as the head of their group, he was not supposed to reveal to his comrades, at least – not openly. He especially did not want any of them to worry: concern turned so quickly to pity and there was nothing he desired less; valuing himself to be of sound mind, he could not tolerate the thought of his misfortune being seen as so terribly unbearable than any other: all of Ferelden would be affected by the Blight, he was just at the heart of it.

Not that he had so handily slipped into the role of the undaunted hero, whose only purpose appeared to be to slay darkspawn by the thousands and save the day without batting an eye….

It had all been so hastily forced upon him: the title of Grey Warden; his role as leader; the task to unite an entire land – there would always be something else to do, some expected occasion to rise up to while he could only be swept away: all but a paltry pebble in a turbulent tide. While used to such pretension from his life back at the Tower, it never once ceased to amaze how very simply one flung another toward certain doom at even the subtlest sign that their own way of existence would be spared.

Why yes; it would certainly be wrong to condemn any one person to defeating an entire Blight, but…ah – it won't be me, will it?

The frank words of his apostate companion found its way to his head again, the mage not knowing why he allowed such a thing command over his thoughts, but it claiming a spot all the same: was he truly no more than a freed sheep? Released only to be made a slave by another – that's what being a Warden was, no; a slave to fate, people, and the taint inside him?

_Even after escaping the ever present whip of the Chantry, another master so swiftly steps into place._

Such assiduous introspection being nothing short of depressing, Aridias gazed down at the state of his grey blanket, it draped haphazardly over his feet and the dirt ground, before throwing the entire thing off and rising to his knees. The man exited his tent tentatively, eyes peeking through the small slit allowed as an opening to see if anyone of his travel party had suddenly ventured out for some unknown reason – though namely a certain ex-Templar sneaking a bit a cheese from their food reserves as a midnight snack – before letting out a small sigh of relief that he was only met with more darkness. The flames of their communal fire pit had long since died out, but there were still several embers who, gasping on their last reserves of oxygen, fought valiantly not to die out amongst their brethren, glowing angrily at times with their insolence.

Giving audience to their plight, and being in a particular merciful mood as the moon was easily bright enough to pierce through most of the darkness, the mage conjured fire to his hand and knelt down: he did not fancy a healthy, roaring fire, but only to give the embers a fighting chance before having to face the inevitable. When he rose back up from the reborn, if not meager flames, he lifted his still enflamed hand with new reverence to his face as the orange-yellow glow danced across his chestnut orbs; there was no valid pain to be had, he knew this, but the dream still remained fresh in his mind and brought the anguish it wrought with it.

The legion of darkspawn; the nightmarish archdemon warning – it had all been so disturbingly realistic. So much so that he was actually having difficulty discerning truth from fiction.

In the dream, the dragon had looked him in the eye and never had he felt such unadulterated terror flow throughout his veins; even his Harrowing seemed to pale in comparison to the blood chilling event: the man had been spotted, caught in enemy territory – a place he had no business in – and made to answer for his crimes as the dragon's power proved absolute. It was nothing less than insidious: the incredible pain of being burned alive coupled with the horrendous knowledge that the very same taint that was possessed by all its other minions was inside him as well. Just as the dying embers he rekindled before, so was his very soul against the foul corruption inside him; yes, he too fought valiantly to keep himself, but there were times, his dream being one of them, where he could **feel **it inside: like a sinister viper slowly – leisurely, coiling around a victim it already knew would soon die.

It was nothing more than a matter of time. The archdemon knew it, and saw fit to pass this fact to him for his unforgivable transgression.

"And here our intrepid leader stands: mesmerized, flame so precariously cradled in hand." A voice, snide if not amused, pointed out. "Now; what is one to think in this situation? Would it be mere optimism on my part that this is the clumsy beginning of some grand scheme to murder all of these simpletons in some magnificent, fiery blaze while they are unaware?"

"Morrigan…?"

She smiled; a smile he fast was learning meant her next comment would not particularly be in his favor. "How very perceptive: if not your prowess in combat, _surely_ your skill at observation will give the darkspawn pause. Though perhaps I speak too hastily given the events: I am sure even that Tower of yours had to have cautioned you on the numerous dangers of playing with fire. Were you unaware that your lack of emotional control would have doomed them all?"

Promptly snuffing out both the flames of his hand and of the pit as soon as he witnessed its unchecked growth, Aridias allowed the sudden darkness to fully jolt him out of his pensive mood before his eyes readjusted to the natural luminosity of the full moon above.

"I…" his voice trailed as his mind failed to grasp an adequate explanation, "It was but a momentary lapse – it will not happen again."

"I am not here to chastise you, Warden. If anything, I would consider this a service; no doubt it would save me valuable time before I eventually committed such an act myself; not that I've abandoned the prospect, of course."

"Ah. So, I suspect Alistair very much owes me his life then?"

Her smile became one of those perilous grins. "Indeed…For tonight, at least; you have foiled my intentions."

"As you mine:" he wished to exit their conversation as soon as he was able without appearing suspicious or hasty, "seems there is no fun to be had this time, is there? Pity."

"Oh?" Her inclined brow told otherwise. "I would not go so far as to say that. For instance, if I wished it, there are plenty of ways that I could lengthen your apparent discomfort; I could, in fact, inquire on your wakened state at such a late hour, or on the red in your eyes that so clearly illustrate sleep deprivation, or even on what captivated you so while looking at those flames that you became so wonderfully inattentive."

Aridias slowly nodded. "True : you could ask me on all those things and more, but then I would only parry with a wonder on your concern for my actions and make a claim on your obvious affections – you would rejoin with some witty one liner and I would take advantage of it in some clever way and twist this entire conversation around until it was in my favor: most likely in the form of me covertly questioning you on your unexplained presence here when I was all but certain I was alone; my point being, dear Witch, that you would be no closer to finding your answer then you were at the start. We would merely be going in circles."

"Would we? You sound so sure…And yet, I find myself compelled to still test your little theory; it is not so common that I converse with one of the others you've assembled and come out with much more than witless, dead ends. A circle of such skill in wordplay, however, would be a most welcome exercise."

"_Flattery_? My, aren't you the wily temptress after dark?" The Circle mage asked with a grin before surrendering. "Fine; if you are so very eager, I will subject myself to your cruel interrogation, but let us at least make it a private affair; if I am to be revealing heart and soul, I'd rather not have any spectators. Specifically, Mugsy;" he nudged his head in the direction of the slumbering war hound before making his way north; "what a little gossip he's become. It's always the quiet ones…."

"You wish to leave camp?"

Aridias flashed a smirk. "Romantic, isn't it?"

"Tell me, is viewing a polluted lake surrounding a rank fishing village that cannot properly defend itself what one considers romantic? Being only a recent departure of a forest where romance could openly entail the consumption of a male's body for energy after mating, I severely doubt I am a proper voice on such matters."

"Your guess would be as good as mine; I'm sure – that, and it is clear you still disapprove of my choice to help the villagers. Was it so torturous aiding them against those undead?"

"What is the greater threat in your mind: a single village plagued by undead or the whole of Ferelden at risk by a vast multitude of darkspawn?" Morrigan posed matter-of-factly, giving no room for him to answer. "You are a Grey Warden, are you not? 'Twas the responsibility of your order to destroy and end the Blight at any cost before they were wiped out? Yet you waste precious time on yet another village by becoming mired in their troubles."

"You wish justification then? If not that it is purely decent to prevent the needless slaughter of an entire town from a threat we effectively fought off, is Arl Eamon's support not logical enough a cause, worthy for such effort?"

"I fail to see where one has anything to do with the other; surely, that village is not so very crucial to this Eamon that he would deny his support to the one man that has the power to save him." She scoffed. "And let us not forget the fact that this esteemed arl is deathly sick and incapable of helping anyone as he is no doubt too preoccupied with the task of remaining alive – another futile endeavor, I might add. Why desire the succor of a dying man? 'Tis madness."

Turning around, Aridias's face clearly echoed the disbelief he felt inside. "So you truly believe that would have been the best course of action, to simply walk away and let an entire village be slaughtered just because there supposedly was nothing to gain from it?"

"Has your naivety no bounds – this is how the real world works. And what of what happens when the next threat comes along? Will you simply drop everything you are doing, important or no, and save them from each minute threat they deem themselves unable to defend against? There will eventually have to be an end: sooner or later you will fail them and they will turn on you, cruelty and accusation where adoration once dwelt."

"How can you be so callous?" It was the second time he had wondered such a thing, though this time, it left his lips.

"How can _you _be so simple?" She snapped back acerbically, golden eyes narrowing not only from his ignorant nature, but the fact that she actually wished to get these facts through his thick skull – and he would not listen. "You cannot possibly rescue everyone, and you certainly cannot always be the savior: the Blight will remain unimpressed by your tiresome heroics, and there will no doubt come a time when you will have to be lucid enough to make a rational decision. Those villagers – every single one of them – were already dead, their lot determined, no matter how tragic or adverse." The apostate explained slowly. "Do you think your actions merciful? That battle was not theirs to win: now they will all perish by some stronger force; you have merely delayed what can only be seen as inevitable."

"So…your situation and lot in life has already been predetermined before you are even born? It is utterly useless to even attempt to change one's circumstances or role because that is simply the life they are supposed to lead?" The mage scoffed, a mockery of a smile converting his lips. "What a delightfully pragmatic way of viewing all the misfortune in the world."

"Employ sarcasm if need be, but 'tis realistic as it is inevitable – and truth no matter your wordy delusions. You are what you are, where you are, _unless_ you have the power to make it otherwise: such is the price nature demands." The apostate summarized indifferently.

He shook his head, pausing only to lower himself to the chilled ground, chestnut eyes looking to the large lake before them rather than her. "Endurance is what you speak of – a requisite to surviving life's cruelties – though it is not the same as living; I have endured for the majority of my life…I suspect you have as well, but only now do we begin to live, removed from our prisons and masters, given freedoms others are simply born with: one cannot hope to compete with the other."

"You dare compare your Tower with my Wilds, claiming it as a similar prison?"

"So you would happily live there if not viewed as an apostate? Remain for some other reason than necessity?"

"'Tis my home, is it not?" Morrigan questioned back, crossing her arms defensively. "Exactly where else would you picture me?" Some grand city? An idyllic village?"

"You willingly embrace isolation, then, even if you had the power to change it?" The Circle mage glanced back, her sharp golden gaze piercing even through the night. "What a lonely existence that would be. Have you no desire for companionship – friend or otherwise?"

Her icy glare was expected. "Again with your inane questions – is there some reason I should? Perhaps you feel you can provide this vaunted "companionship" you speak of: fill the gaping hole left inside by my lack of camaraderie?" She posed, scorn evident from its delivery. "Shall I lie in wait for your charitable services or will you proceed to fix all of me now?"

Aridias smiled, not being able to help himself: her words certainly scathing and not to his benefit, but somehow her belligerence entertaining; the strangest paradox he had ever come across. "Crossed another line, have I?" He presented a rueful 'tsk'. "And our conversation was going so smoothly too…Ah well – let me make it up to you, expose a few vulnerabilities of my own for you to poke fun at." Digging his foot into the ground to help keep his balance; the mage stood and faced her once more. "You wished to know of what distressed me before, yes? Why I appeared so very pensive when holding that flame? Well: I had a bad dream."

"You mock me."

"At what motive? I am trying to placate you, remember? Not make you even angrier; besides, there are far better things to fib on: why waste a perfectly good lie on something like this? Believe me when I say it was a bad dream."

"I see." She raised a brow. "'Twas a bad dream and nothing more that unnerved you so…But, you do realize that, as a mage, you are self-aware when in the Fade?"

"Not that sort of dream. I had absolutely zero control over any of the events that happened in it, much like what I'm told others with no talent for the arcane arts have – that, and it was not in the Fade. It was…" he hesitated, mind going back to the vision to try to grasp the proper words, "real, and it was…hectic: I saw them; rapid scenes of hostile darkspawn – the Blight – as if I were there."

"And that was what frightened you, Warden? Seeing the same enemy you have slain a dozen times over?"

"No. What frightened me was seeing the power behind my enemy: the darkspawn, each and every one of them, are just minions; the archdemon, it's the real terror." Aridias admitted straightforwardly, not at all defensive as flashes of the mighty dragon filled his head yet again. "It's…enormous, spikes and barbs all along its body, with a limb that could kill any man with only a haphazard flick – and I stood before it. It spoke to us all with these bloodcurdling roars…Then acknowledged me; I could feel its gaze and immediately knew it saw me only as its opposition." He lifted one of his hands to his face and revolved. "It set me on fire. With a mere breath from that beast, my entire body was alight…I still remember the horror of watching my very skin melt away as if ice with heat…until eventually, it was nothing more than singed ash, several bright embers glowing through my semi-transparent body." His once studied hand gradually balled into a tight fist. "Even then, however – it was not through. It had crushed my body, but not my spirit, and it sought to remedy such immediately…"We are strong; we are many, and we are coming." He recited in monotone, eyes finally looking back up to hers. "There is no refuge. And there is nothing in this world that can save you now."

"This is the first time you have had this dream?" Her voice, he could not help but notice, had come out just the minutest bit softer than it had before and was suddenly lacking all former disrespect.

The mage shook his head to signal that it was not. "It is the first where the dragon has spoken to me perhaps, but certainly not the beginning of them…Though the dreams that came when I was unconscious in your hut after Ostagar were among the worst, as if they became stronger because of their victory – those seemed clearer; more focused."

"I thought so. There were times when I saw you flinch without cause, or murmur some nonsensical thing, brows knit securely in pain or in some other random anguish." She smiled. "'Twas all quite entertaining, really: I remember chuckling on several occasions."

"Yet no copious amount of drool or embarrassing whimpers for my Mr. Snuggles?" Aridias frowned, feigning to look truly put out. "How remarkably odd…."

"You are the only odd thing I see, though I suppose, from what I have experienced, it is your nature. Do tell: is it only when you are embarrassed that you make such simple remarks, or must any other condition be fulfilled?"

"Well, let's check…happy; singing, mad; dirty limericks; embarrassed; fool." He counted them off his fingers before snapping them. "_Ah_, and when I am sad, I begin to rhyme, if that helps."

"And _this_ the savior of Ferelden?" She asked back sardonically. "No wonder you have had so many dreams of your undoing; coupled with that fool Templar, we will all surely die."

The Circle mage pouted, before sniffing sadly. "Alas, she is a cruel, stringent witch, known also by Alistair as a pretentious-"

"How surprising that Chantry-raised imbecile even has knowledge of such biting words; I will have to demonstrate a few I have picked up from the Chasind folk the next time we speak, ones that will no doubt stain his cheeks permanently pink with anger or mortification – I care not which."

He laughed. "Why do you loathe him so very much?"

"Because he is simple and he is a fool."

"You have claimed those both as traits I possess, as well – am I only a fool alongside him?"

"You are…slightly higher than a fool, but then; your capricious character makes me unsure." Morrigan answered truthfully. "As I have said before, you strike me as a man child…One who obviously needs someone to hold him after he has had a bad dream."

"_Ah _– and _there _is the mocking I expected! I was beginning to think my foolish lapse in judgment had escaped your notice." He chuckled. "What is it to be then? Is there mercy to be had tonight or will I spend the remainder of it recovering my shattered self-esteem off the ground?"

"Discontinue doubting yourself and there will be no need: do not allow such paltry visions deter you from your overall goal. If you are so very used to enduring adversity, then why should this Blight be any different? No true freedom is without price and you will not have it until the darkspawn are vanquished -- is that not motivation enough? Do not be so quick to become discouraged from the sight of your task and fight for what you believe is rightfully yours."

The mage blinked twice. "…Unexpected…"

"If you fail, so do we all. Therefore, a weak leader should not be tolerated."

"A legitimate reason, and one I'll thank you for if only because it is so amusing watching you accept…Though I have yet to discover why you were outside your tent."

"Oh? Do you truly wish to know what an apostate does with time spent alone from prying eyes? 'Tis not suitable for all ears."

"Is that so? Forgive me if I take that as a hint that this answer is worth fighting for, then. Let's see...Did you...pluck a few children from their beds? Or perhaps you tempted a usually virtuous and faithful man into a few hours of pleasure and frivolity?"

The woman chuckled. "The reputation any Witch of the Wilds would live up to, surely. Yet are you sure you do not wish to add 'spitting fire' or 'petrifying villagers with all but a single gaze', to such a list? Such wild and speculative imaginings do prove quite...entertaining."

"A failure then?"

"Excusing the sole fact that I have yet to confirm or deny your claims, 'tis certainly a wonder...."

He scoffed. "From all this bravado, one would think you just had to relieve yourself without arousing suspicion."

"Desperate, I see."

"Only if wrong...But what's this? That cold stare; that pouting lip..."

"And this is most certainly the precise moment where all intelligent dialogue comes to its end."

"I am to be wounded by her words once more! How can one man take such abuse?" Aridias questioned to no one in particular before he held outstretched hands toward her. "That offer to be held is still on the table, yes?" He grinned. "_Come _-- embrace your fearless leader!"

"Fool."


	5. Exchange

Exchange! Sorry, guys: enchantment would have been TOO easy and it's supposed to be a challenge to guess these titles, remember?

WELL, BUTTER MY BUTT AND CALL ME A BISCUIT, GUYS -- I HAVE 45 REVIEWS! (begins to laugh crazily)

No, but seriously, I REALLY appreciate EVERYONE who has supported this story, and, in doing so, Morrigan/PC romances as well -- I hope the wait wasn't TOO horrible! All of you are just so kind to me and make me constantly blush and/or smile with the gracious comments on my writing abilities, my PC, my portrayal of Morrigan, etc -- YOU BIG BUNCH OF FLATTERS! XD

I've told most of you how much they mean to me and they really are what inspire me to do my absolute best on each and every new chappie. :)

Can anyone actually believe that I was nervous about the last chapter? I don't know if you guys noticed, but it had no true dialogue from the game -- I was playing it all by ear and I had HORRIBLE writers block near the end...But apparently, I did well! haha Obviously, there will be in-game convos featured in this fic, but I do my best to make them fresh and flesh them out along with adding my own original dialogue.

ALL RIGHT: TIME TO ANSWER MY REVIEWERS WHO I NO CAN PM:

**Witness Gaxkang!**: hahaha If only it were that easy. But it hasn't been too long since D came out, so clearly, I'm not ridic busy. Lucky you, hmm? ;D

About your critique: Hm...I guess I can see how the two's dialogue would be similar as they ARE similar, though I try to make a clear distinction between who is talking and who is not. As for the whole you not believing two people can actually converse like that, you should hang out with some of my friends and I. Trust me, it's VERY possible, and extremely entertaining. Hopefully, in this chapter, and future ones, that issue won't come up as most of them will be primarily conversation between the two. (crosses fingers)

Thanks for the review!

**Unnamed ****Reader: **Aww...Join the club! I'm sure everyone here got addicted to this game at one point or another. I remember, the first time I played to pursue Morrigan, I stayed up for HOURS going through all the available dialogue options just because I was SUPER excited to finally play it out. Congrats are in order as well: I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for the review! :)

**Witchy Bee: **Look at Witchy Bee standing up for me! haha I appreciate it. Not to say that it was your fault Witness Gaxkang!, but as I said, I was nervous about my last chapter and to have this vote of confidence was a great pick-me-up!

I believe I would have loved to have longer convos as well, but Bioware did a great job: Morrigan, for the most part in the beginning, didn't particularly like speaking to your PC or did she favor answering their questions, so I can understand while most of the early ones ended fairly quickly. That, and obvious time restrictions, of course. As for the course of the relationship, unless you went about it at a certain way, it does seem disjointed and awkward at points, but again, that's what fanfic is for! I plan to smooth it over some. I have some more big words for you as well!

And noooo, you're in no way demanding. (hands back whip) ;) Thanks for the review!

STORY TIME! Oh, and **Wildfly **-- here's your action scene! SEE? I LISTEN TO MY REVIEWERS, DARNIT! :D

* * *

"…_**Persistent**__." _

_Aridias gritted his teeth, chestnut eyes narrowing while his hand went behind his back and tightened around his wooden staff, their party having the distinct pleasure of encountering yet another haphazard ambush by a pack of territorial wolves. _

"_You know, just once I would love to happen upon a group of baddies and be offered an actual choice other than fighting, Why not, say…a lively debate or a heated game of rock, parchment, clippers instead?" Alistair questioned wryly before the alpha wolf of the pack snarled at him and bared its jagged fangs. "Now, now: no need to get nasty…"_

_Morrigan raised her hand. "Is offering Alistair as a sacrifice not an option? Surely, it would not be so grave a loss; I would even see cause for celebration afterward: our mental capacity, for instance, would no doubt increase tenfold."_

"_Did I ever mention how nice it is to have companions who care so very much on your personal safety?" _

"_I am only being practical; with you to appease them, the rest of us would have ample time to flee…Unless, of course, one of us personally wished to see you become this pack's latest chew toy. I myself find the notion quite tempting." _

"_Gee, __**thanks**__." _

"_Parshaara; is this how humans quell their enemies? Thinking to strike them down with menial conversation?" Sten interjected, his usually stoic tone now laced with irritation. "Let us dispatch these beasts and be done with it." _

"_Agreed – Alistair; Sten: keep them at bay: they're not darkspawn but they've got numbers and we can't let them surround us. Morrigan and I will aid you both from the rear – go!"_

"_Ser, yes ser!" The Templar acknowledged before brandishing his long sword and charging, the leader of the wolf pack stomping its paws to the ground and releasing a commanding howl before the other wolves began to storm toward them as well. _

_The latter said nothing, though his body gave way to efficient action as he effortlessly sliced down one of the more aggressive creatures, a pained whimper meeting all their ears as his axe's blade struck deep into the base of its neck before it detached, a horizontal slash to its head signaling its doom as a mangled body was flung to the ground. It was not a lasting victory as two more of the beasts quickly took its place, clearly determining the qunari the largest threat from the fate of their fallen brother – until one was propelled back by a large bolt of energy, the other frozen in its steps. _

"_Impatient creatures – did you not think we would defend our own as well?" Aridias questioned as his glowing staff was pointed in their direction, the heavily bleeding wolf that had been hit by his bolt shakily rising to its paws once more and sounding short, gruff barks._

"_Be wary of that one." Morrigan forewarned, hand still emanating a chilling, wispy aura from her cold spell. "I have seen the look in its eyes many a time before: death clings to it heavily now. Albeit crude; it will stop at nothing to maintain its own survival."_

_As if on cue, the wounded animal immediately lunged at the Circle mage, the very last of its muscle placed into its pounce as it forced his back hard against the unforgiving ground. The man, knowing its desperation from his companion's words, successfully thrust his staff horizontally to block its mighty jaws from clawing his face off, the unyielding, wooden material effectively holding it back as it growled and nipped; all body parts not entirely out of reach of its swiping claws, however, it scraped harshly against the flesh of his holding arm and then stabbed multiple claws deep into his shoulder, a strained hiss forced through clenched teeth as bloody welts were torn into the ornate fabric of his robe's sleeve and front. _

"_Leave me!" Aridias commanded gruffly, witnessing the effort about to be made by Sten to free him from his situation, no doubt noticing the fact that so much effort had gone into his trembling hands, the mere task of keeping the frantic beast back surprisingly difficult as it mindlessly clawed away. "Finish the one she froze – now!" _

_Sten, giving a brisk nod, turned away to draw his axe high above his head, "Ebost issala!" _

_The qunari brought it down with a forceful cry as the sheer momentum and power behind his swing completely shattered the ice-covered beast, blood painting the warrior's façade red as the creature's body was nothing more than a messy state of ice chunks, fur and separated limbs subsequently._

_Aridias grunted with exertion as he forcefully yanked his staff back, tugging the rabid creature all of a sudden forward as it had no choice but to follow his compulsion before delivering a swift kick to its body; welcoming the brutal two-handed swing of Morrigan's own staff to aid his cause, the wolf yelped loudly, the action just enough for him to relinquish its once fierce hold while the mage rolled to his side before feeling a familiar tingle rise through his arm, course through his free hand, and build within, a controlled eruption of electricity exploding from his fingers as the wolf began to spasm violently before becoming deathly still._

_Breathing heavily as adrenaline continued to pump through his system, their leader pushed out a humored breath before his head lolled back tiredly. "Gets the blood flowing, eh?" _

"_Apparently." The apostate answered understatedly, motioning a finger to the freshly obtained wounds he sported. "Am I to expect you to patch yourself up with the same efficiency that you can gather these numerous lacerations? Or could it be that you have become complacent and think I am to be your personal wet nurse every time you are careless?"_

_Aridias lazily opened one of his eyes to the clearly vexed woman. "An offer? Wonderful: I complacently place myself in your miraculous care then." _

"_Pardon me for interrupting, but a little help here would be nice!" Alistair interjected tersely; the alpha howled once more, several more wolves unexpectedly appearing to its side before one pounced, the man managing to knock the wolf down with a powerful swing of his metal shield, finishing the bash off with a downward plunge of his sword to its back. "Big, bad 'wolfie' here summoned more of its friends!" _

"_And as usual, the fool is lacking and in need of rescue." Sighing, Morrigan rolled her eyes. "While not particularly surprising that the Templar's strength has failed you: I grow weary of these beasts as well – they are quickly becoming far more than mere thorns in our side. It is time to end this." Cutting her eyes back to the lying mage, an incomparable grin, as mischievous as it was thoughtful, spread on her lips before she tossed him her staff. "Care for it: this will not take long."_

_Brow furrowing from the vague implication of her statement, he cast a quick heal spell on himself, feeling the extraordinary binding affects it offered; the Circle mage was about to jump to his feet to assist before his apostate companion held a hand out in a 'halt' gesture. _

"_You doubt me? 'Tis not bravado, Warden – but you will see soon enough."_

_Turning to walk away, the woman began to lean her torso forward as, in the blink of his eye; her form was suddenly that of a giant spider – the appearance of a young woman completely morphed into that of an animal in a way he never thought possible, or at least, not so very seamless; she made it appear almost natural. The arthropod darted rapidly to the wolves before spinning around, a blur of white spurting from its spinnerets, stilling one of the beasts as it was completely covered in a webbed prison. The once dominant alpha wolf did not even have time to react as Morrigan, speed so much greater than its own -- as if she personally knew its limitations, rocketed off the ground and leapt at the creature, spiny legs piercing through its fur as the mandibles at her mouth ripped mercilessly through the flesh of his neck like a knife to butter, rivulets of fresh blood dripping from the pincers when she finally wrenched them out. _

_Her multiple eyes then blinked rapidly before shifting over to the wolf she paralyzed with her web before, it being the last of their canine prey before her many legs scuttled over to it as well, the wolf's dread somewhat palpable as it could not even struggle inside her weaved trap; Morrigan sailed through the air yet again from a second strong push off the ground and landed square on her prey, long, razor sharp legs now forming a deadly vice as they jutted through different sections on its body like needles so she had a proper grip. Mandibles flexing somewhat excitedly, the spider witch pried one of its forelegs up, a mist of blood coming up with it, before puncturing the wolf's cranium with a vicious jab._

* * *

White hair peeking through the opening of one of the plain linen undershirts he wore beneath his robes, Aridias brought his head entirely through before bringing his arms all the way through their respective holes as well, still in awe from the memory of the battle they had won not too long ago before returning back to their camp outside of Redcliffe – a location where already unfortunate matters seemed destined to become even worse.

Not only was the arl's son, Conner, now possessed by a demon and transformed into an unstable abomination as a result, but the cause of the undead attacks on the village had now been successfully linked to the arlessa's influence and coddling; yet, all of that was still neglecting the fact that she not only hired an illegal mage to teach her son in secret in effort to save him from the Tower, but said illegal mage was Jowan: the man he once knew as his most valued friend.

_And I let him out. _The man thought bitterly, his actions even now coming back to haunt him. _Was it because it was the smart thing to do or because of our past together? Logic or emotion…?_

It was the way he had been taught in the Tower ever since he was a boy: control and acumen. A mage could never have too much of either; without the two, one was nothing more than an abomination waiting to be unleashed. It was, while, at most points, unfair, something he knew as accurate and regarded it highly as he felt it had given him an exceptional measure of levelheadedness – what infuriated him was that now, from something so very simple, that had all been thrown out the window. When he had seen Jowan in that cell, shock and surprise quickly melted away into anger and a deplorable lust for vengeance; here was the man who had betrayed him: the very one who lied right through his teeth about not studying blood magic and sacrificed a life – no, two – not his own for selfishness; his wants and desires. Instead of risking what could have easily been death for a mage for what was thought a noble cause for his best friend, he was only a supporting role in a scheme.

He could have **died **for all he did for him. And Jowan would have **allowed **it.

It upset him more then he cared to admit: logic was not his main source of retribution. He wished for the man to suffer, and could not entirely justify that letting him loose was solely for his sake….

But that was a path, he wished for now, to leave untraveled.

Presently, he was tired and all the mage wanted to do was to distract himself. Or be distracted.

_By a certain witch…._

Aridias wasn't surprised in the least that he thought of the apostate first; she was…unusual, in a way he couldn't fully grasp. There was something disturbingly fascinating about her in the short time that they knew each other: she was reverse psychology incarnate; the more she moved away from him when all the others seemed to come forth – poke and prod on their dauntless leader; his motivations; his past; what made him tick, the more he was compelled.

Morrigan, from what he could gather, was similar to a puzzle someone had had over the years and lost most of the pieces to, while most would think it useless, some special few would find it better afterwards: something new that could not be gained with the complete version.

Grabbing one of the extra blankets that Leliana had provided him and draping it around his arm, Aridias ducked out of his tent and took a look around. Alistair was messing around with Mugsy again, no doubt about to get his hand clear bitten off by underestimating his hound, Sten was studiously cleaning the dual blades on his axe of blood, and Leliana was concentrating on placing a thread through the narrow eye of a needle as she held the top of his mage's robe in her lap, insisting that she patch up the large holes he earned in his last fight.

_Perfect_. _Everyone's busy in their own little world_.

Eyes focusing on the flickering flames beyond the main campfire, he smiled lightly at the apostate's personal camp site, tucked deep within the farthest nook of the rocky cliff that surrounded them, became clearer and closer with each step. Again, he found himself captivated; she willingly chose to isolate herself from the others; while it was surely natural for any average person to wish to fit in to any group they might find themselves in, or at least, seek out those who were similar, this desire seemed to have passed over her completely – something that, he could not deny, made him smile. Again, he discovered another trait they shared: while most seemed to think him highly social, he had never been the sort to willingly go out and make friends, to seek them out to find some sort of completion; the man, from even his first days at the Circle Tower, was quite content with occupying himself with himself. There was no need for a playmate: he stimulated and entertained – even Jowan, the one person he had let in, had told him frequently how much he envied the fact that he always seemed so comfortable being alone, that he didn't appear to require anyone to have a good time.

His eyebrows rutted deeply once more – how his mind betrayed him! Giving the effort to reflect on that traitor once more; he wished to escape thoughts of the man, not embrace them with renewed vigor.

Aridias, feeling the familiar warmth that came with approaching a roaring fire, shook his head of his musings and refocused his eyes on the distraction that always proved affecting in front of him. His apostate companion was standing close to her fire, eyes closed when he approached her as the warm orange glow appeared to dance across her fair skin and exotic clothing; the sight proving to be fairly mesmerizing…Before her eyes unexpectedly snapped open and seized his chestnut ones, the critical golden orbs seeming to size up the intruder.

"Is there a reason why you have journeyed so far from your tent to find me? Or is this merely a moth that stands before me now, so perilously drawn to my flame, instead of man?" Her brow rose with interest when her eyes then lowered and began to dissect the blanket he carried. "And with offering as well! Such a fitting distraction so its lovely wings will not be singed off."

The man smiled; he rather enjoyed this part. "And, immediately, our Witch strikes with serpentine wit upon seeing me; should I be honored or terrified?"

"I would hazard a little of both, though let us say more of the latter: 'tis an enjoyable thought, striking fear into the hearts of men…" Morrigan trailed thoughtfully, "But you are in my domain now, wayward moth, and you will submit to my rules lest you wish to meet your fiery demise;" her hypnotic gaze was searing and deliberate, an echo of her tone, "answer me."

"So, I should appease this subjugator of mine if I am to survive this encounter? A delight to know my options…Very well; why have I sought you out? Though one would think it obvious from the article I bear on my arm, I am tempted to say for the exercise – why alienate yourself? Is it so unbearable to be around the others?"

"Do be forthright, Grey Warden; do you not mean is it so 'unbearable' to be around you? You who come here seeking conversation when all the others do not."

"Yet you indulge me; or am I having this required discussion by myself?"

Her eyes narrowed from such impertinence, though it was compelling in a way, this wit he possessed; as if striking a challenge. "You are not, though that could change quickly; my variable nature being what it is. For now, I am diverted by your presence and allow it. I would suggest, however, if there is indeed some point in you being here, speaking hastily before that disposition changes."

Aridias nodded, sliding the thick blanket off and presenting it to her with both hands. "I wished to give you this. To ward off the cold."

She sighed disinterestedly, as if now unimpressed from seeing this as his sole motive. "'Tis simple munificence that brought you here then? The preconceptions of a benevolent leader?"

"You do not want it?"

"Is the thought so surprising?" Her face reflected the absurdity she thought accompanied his question while crossing her arms. "Did I ask for it? Did I specifically come and beg of you to fetch me a blanket for these unbearably cold nights? No?" She posed back, answering her own question. "Then why bring me such a thing? I find the act, on whole, entirely presumptuous, if not completely unnecessary."

The Circle mage laughed this time, knowing that this was why conversing with her was so very agreeable: her every comment proved unpredictable, and what person **but** her would take such heavy offense to an offer that to any other would only be from the kindness of their heart -- if not touching?

"Is that a fact? Perhaps I should start again then?" He proposed, before bringing a hand to his mouth and clearing his throat. "Dear, Witch: I offer you this blanket in exchange for one of my tedious questions being taken pity on and answered by your vast, unmatched knowledge that my feeble Tower affected mind could not possibly understand."

The woman smiled from his corrections, though it was, he noticed, one that did contain any other intention but to simply be what it was. "Ah, so it is an exchange you seek? 'Tis far more interesting this way, now that the blanket is given a price, do you not agree?"

"It is certainly a more…interesting approach; I'll give you that – but since it seems that we have come to a compromise: here is my query. How did you become a shapechanger? I find myself captivated by the art, and while not the first time that you have used it in battle, I cannot help replaying our last when you transformed into a spider."

"I was not born as such, 'tis a skill of Flemeth's taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying that we assume the forms of creatures to them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured. A most amusing legend."

"_Well_…" Aridias trailed off, not being able to help a few chuckles, "That _does _sound like something you would do."

Morrigan cocked her head inquisitively from the assumption. "Oh? I truly doubt that children would be worth the effort. They are _filthy_, smelly things full of tears and snot and trouble."

"And here I thought we could not be any more perfect for each other – we both feel the same way about children! I am so very glad that we got this out of the way early on the path to our whirlwind romance: it would have no doubt been awkward mentioned later."

"Indeed? Well, I suppose a child would not want a child."

"I've never even considered the fact, to be honest." The man brought forward honestly as he shrugged his shoulders. "Mages at the Tower of opposite sex are strongly discouraged to spend unnecessary time alone or build relations, let alone produce children that will no doubt be mages as well."

"So there is still the option if one were to try hard enough? I am actually surprised they have not simply rounded up the mages in your Tower and neutered you all…But we were speaking of shape shifting, were we not? In regard to my mother and such legends, I cannot speak for her tastes. She has, after all, lived a very lengthy time in the Wilds and done many things I know nothing of."

"But, it is just a legend, correct? …Not to give the opinion that I know anything of Flemeth's practices myself."

"So I assume. Again, my mother has walked the Wilds far longer than I. Who am I to suggest what things she has done and not done in her past?" Her eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion, wondering what was to come of this. "Why do you ask? Is there something specific you wish to know?" An entertained scoff passed her lips at the sudden gleam in his eyes from her encouragement; again like a child, though one presented with sweets. "What a simple thing you are. Go on."

"Can you change into other human forms, as well? Like an old woman or a little boy to deceive others?"

"The form of an animal is different from my own. One may study the creature; learn to move as it does, think as it does. In time, this allows one to become as it is. I gain nothing by studying another human. I already am the same as they are, I learn nothing. So the answer is no; my human form is the only one I possess."

Aridias snapped his fingers before grinning. "_That _is what you were out doing the other night we were in camp, wasn't it? And it also explains why I did not sense your presence until you spoke to me – you were in animal form!"

"I suppose I should not be shocked that you still concern yourself with such nonsensical matters, but yes: that night, I had taken on the form of an animal before approaching you."

"And so the mystery has been solved." His grin became smug. "I knew I would figure it out sooner or later."

"_Most_ _impressive_…" Morrigan offered cynically, "Though it is a wonder that you were not able to sense me until I transformed back into this form, no? What other forms might you have missed where you were otherwise too preoccupied to notice me? I know that I would personally be _quite _unnerved as a man knowing that a woman could be watching me at anytime and any place; especially when in a state of undress…" The woman smirked as her trailed words struck him exactly in the way that she wished when his expression dropped, "Who is to know if I am not one of the many insects that share that tent of yours in your more _private_ moments?"

"Y-you…" his face flushed slightly at the thought, before his brows furrowed, "No. I'll not fall for another one of your vile tricks, woman."

"Vile tricks"? You say these things with such disdain, Warden...though 'tis certainly possible…" her golden eyes were sinful as the smirk on her dark lips became positively wicked, "Should I go about proving my statements as valid, then? Perhaps a review of what I have seen of your anatomy? _Hmm_; let us start from your abdominals and work our way down – unless you would prefer to begin at a point even lower? I would strongly suggest-"

"Enough." It took all of his will to say the command without stuttering from discomfiture. "Do you spend a lot of time as an animal?"

She laughed with true delight: so quaint was the moth she attracted. "There were nights when the Wilds called to me, 'tis true. You look upon the world around you and you think you know it well…I have _smelled_ it as a wolf, _listened_ as a cat, prowled shadows that you never _dreamed_ existed. But my life is as a human – I am under no illusions to the contrary."

The Circle mage was sure she would not just come out with it, but he caught the wistful tenor held in her words. "It sounds as if there was a time when you wished to be more animal then human."

"Do you feel proud to state the obvious? We would not be having this discussion if that were not the case. As I said, there were nights when I could not resist the Wilds' call, and the life of an animal is far simpler than that of an apostate. Let it suffice that it was an escape of sorts to lose myself in their world for whatever amount of time I wished."

"And what do those animals think of you when you're changed?"

"They do not shy away from me. To their senses, I believe I seem like any other of their species. As to what they think: I truly cannot say. Just as I am still human, no matter my form, they are still animals. Thus, they cannot speak, even were I to ask."

"I would imagine that to be frustrating – to look exactly like another animal and to have them accept you, but to still not be able to speak to them and them not able to communicate with you: especially if they were your only company in the Wilds." Seeing the same lines that always began to form on her forehead when becoming aggravated from his deductions, Aridias decided to wisely move on. "But I've never heard of magic like this before, even in all the books I read in the Tower's library."

"No?" She seemed genuinely taken aback by this fact. "'Tis not unheard of, in the remote corners of the world. There are traditions of magic outside of the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe. Some of these traditions are old indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the Chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but as luck have it, some exist. My mother is such a one."

"By 'practitioners' you mean apostates." He stated slowly.

"Not all apostates use the forbidden blood arts." She relayed in monotone as if already knowing his logic and finding it typical. "Maleficarum do, but to condemn all who do not fall under the Circle's thrall for the sake of what might be is a dangerous path to walk...and there are those who look on the word 'apostate' as meaning freedom…."

The man frowned. "I did not mean to imply that you are misguided or your beliefs flawed; 'apostate' is just the term I adopted for mages outside of the Circle – I do not think them all maleficarum: I am actually glad that such things still exist in the world, magic beyond the Tower's jurisdiction. Such practices, such traditions should be preserved. It would be a waste if they were just mindlessly eradicated, surely."

Morrigan looked close to amazed before pushing out an amused breath. "I am _shocked_ that you think so, being a mage of the Circle as you were." Her eyes captured their chestnut quarry, studying them with new intent. "But perhaps you felt a little like a caged bird, as well, caught within that dark tower?"

"…Maybe a little."

"I thought so." Her tone was the essence of superiority.

"Figured me all out, have you?" He questioned back in a humoring tone before shaking his head, "Tell me, can anyone become a shapechanger?"

"Anyone with sufficient will. But the act of transformation is a magical one. 'Tis a spell, and thus requires a mage's talents. Indeed, you could learn the spell required. _If_ I cared to teach you…"

The excitement; the glint of wonder and intrigue in his chestnut eyes was unmistakable, but those same eyes shifted away in thought before coming back dulled. "That was all I wanted to ask."

"Indeed?" Her query was mocking, at best – of course that was not all he wished, but no matter. "Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"

"That sounds a bit harsh…Maybe tied to a flagpole and tickled?"

Her once inquisitive expression dropped completely into graveness as her brows knit together tightly. "_I wouldn't advise it_."

Aridias laughed openly, expecting nothing less. "Truly? I think your abilities sound rather useful – we shall surely need such a skill in the battles to come."

"_Oh_?" She chuckled. "You're simply full of surprises, little man, aren't you?"

"That I am, dear Witch. And you would do well not to forget it: sheep, moth; youth or bird; I am anything but predictable." He stated with unquestioned surety, seeing the smallest indication that she was mildly impressed. "You said that sufficient will and guidance is needed for changing your form, correct? Would you be willing to teach others to become shapechangers as well?"

"That depends – by "others", do you mean yourself?"

Feigning nonchalance as his gaze went from her to the night sky, he tossed his weight back and forth on his heels. "…_Possibly_…"

"Then I shall teach you what I can whenever we are in camp. Provided you have the will to even make the attempt, that is."

He clapped his hands together excitedly with an eager grin. "Excellent! So, how do we begin? Am I to choose an animal and you will then teach me how to transform into it?"

The woman clicked her tongue. "And, like a child, you are impatient. Did you think you would learn such a talent overnight? One cannot simply imagine an animal in their head and then transform into it – they must be studied, their behavioral patterns and instincts analyzed before a complete and detailed picture can be painted. You, Warden, will start with a mouse, for 'tis one of the simpler creatures. It is your job to collect enough data on one, to the point where you know every nuance of its life, and then to return to me when you believe you are ready."

Aridias pouted, his bottom lip protruding in feigned depression. "So…there is no instant gratification? I am only to be given bookwork? Disappointing…I did not think an apostate's methods would be so similar to what I already know from the Tower. Is there no spectacle to be had here? No animal sacrifices or dancing around your campfire before howling to the moon?"

"You wish a show? I have no qualms on starting with the spider form since you seemed so very rapt before – this can even be done presently; I will transform and entrap you within my web, while you, my pupil, will get a firsthand account of how the female spider devours her captured prey. It should prove most_…educational_."

"You know; I've always liked mice…."

"As I thought. I will take _this_." She apprehended the blanket he held with her last emphasized word before turning away. "Now leave: I grow weary of such idle chatter."


	6. Fickle

OH MY GOLLY GEE - YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT TOOK TO FINALLY GET THIS CHAPPIE POSTED! SIGH...Fanfic was being entirely evil and not letting me upload documents...

Anyway; **intro**:

…FICKLE!

All right, before continuing, I MUST give proper recognition for this chapter: the entire idea came from **Stella Frost**'s stab at what the F chapter title would be and while I was going in a completely different direction, the word 'fickle' was just so inspiring, so harsh and gritty; accusatory, even. I thought it would be awesome, as well as a decent challenge, to abandon all my previous thoughts and focus on this word – not that you won't see hints of some of my old ideas (fetch, friend or forgiveness for example).

**Stella**, this one's for you! I really hope it met the expectations you had when giving me this great guess! :)

I must admit: I actually surprised myself with the writing of this chapter and I'm sure when you all read it, you'll see why; it's not often that I'm satisfied with the work I do, but I truly do like F so I'm hoping the wait was worth it. On a similar note, the next chapter, G, is officially taken out of the contest as I'm sure everyone already knows what it is. ;)

Oh - quick question before I thank people I can't PM: how many Leliana lovers/fans do I have here? Surprisingly, I'm doing her romance in-game (because I just HAVE to have all the achievements) and she's not THAT bad, guys: GASP, I KNOW! I SAID IT, AND IN A MORRIGAN FIC AS WELL - BLASPHEMY! I used to think she was this annoying girly girl who loved pink (which I hate) while drooling over shoes, but there's deepness to her that I'm starting to see…That, and the girl can SANG! What can I say? The voice got me. Haha

Anyway, I just wanted to know how many people would be interested in me doing a fic, similar to this one, as it'll be one-shots of the relationship (though not an alphabet; I'll have a different theme), between her and a Dalish male Grey Warden – DEFINITELY NOT ARIDIAS – TOTALLY DIFFERENT GUY (he told me to put that); I thought the contrast between a steely, freshly tainted elven warrior and her…her-ness would be fun to explore. Give me some feedback in reviews if you're interested. ;D

All right – review answering time!

**Annjul**: Why; yes – I am prone to spontaneous rocking. Haha

Thank you for all the love: I'm really happy that you're enjoying it so very much – especially since there aren't that many Morrigan/PC fics out there.

**Witness Gaxgang!**: All right – first things first: THANKS FOR THE SHAMELESS PLUG! Hahaha

I'll not be told that I don't return my favors: EVERYONE, this fellow has written an EXCEPTIONAL Shepard/Miranda story called **Atlas**, which I sometimes co-star in, that all of you ME 2 addicts for the couple, should promptly go out and read! It's in the M area (thumbs-up), so go to all ratings to find it, kay?

As for your review, wow…You've never pissed Morrigan off, have you? I would call the way she talks to Aridias in the last few chapters downright amiable for her. Though, I'm sure you're not alone in wishing to see this softer side – it has to be worked for, however: patience; patience. ;) Thanks for the review!

Enjoy, everyone!

* * *

The hooded mage's face held a whisper of a smile, the expression weighing unusually heavy as if he hadn't relinquished to one for years. Indeed the past few had not been his kindest, but it was a comfort to know that there were still some small joys to be had.

One specific joy was the sight of a certain Mabari hound wagging its modest tail emphatically as he sniffed random foliage before miraculously snatching up the same piece of wood tossed before that no other creature, the man was quite sure, would be able to find. Turning back to him, wispy breaths coming out in forceful puffs in the frigid air, the dog's brown eyes filled with satisfaction as he trotted back to its owner and dropped the find in front of his feet.

"We're getting a little old for this same routine, don't you think? You don't want to change it up a bit – keep the fire alive?"

The hound barked excitedly, running around in small a circle, its tail still swaying to and fro rapidly.

"You make me feel so young." The mage's smile grew slightly: something noteworthy in being given a request so simple and uncomplicated. "All right; all right – one more time; you hear me? But afterward, no more sad puppy eyes manipulation: I'm going to throw it, you're going to retrieve it, and then, that's as far as this relationship goes."

Another blissful woof. He had never ceased to be amazed with the Mabari's comprehension skills.

Bending down to pick up the thick 'stick' that could be considered by all accounts, a tree's limb…or the wooden staff on his back; he supplied a forceful lob of the wood before his hound spun on its heel and sprinted after it as if it was the first time such a game had ever been played. Of all the notable if not vicious traits of the Mabari hound, his was surprisingly docile when not in battle, becoming the sweetest, most playful lump of fur ever seen – and surely the most loyal companion he ever had. Despite any act performed or any decision made; its devotion and adoration, proven over their substantial time together, was without end as it seemed quite content to never leave his side.

If only all he knew in his life were so consistent.

The mage's mind fell into the same trap yet again: all his thoughts, though generous enough to give some short reprieve in the relative silence, eventually returned to his one cause; finding his quarry and her newest location. There was never just one place the apostate dwelled in, but many; makeshift and temporary, they were all abandoned before their discovery; no doubt, he contemplates, like everything else in her life: scanned by golden orbs – if worthy – it was deemed useful; used, and then discarded when no longer convenient. That was merely the animal she was. Aloof; calculating; pitiless; stunning – all tools necessary for her trade.

There were times past when the man too felt as if he had only been a tool – a means to her end…But then he had only to remember the regret in her naked eyes, the damned trembles when lies died at her lips from his presence, and he **knew** there was a difference; he had been the first inconsistency: for a time, that woman had been made content by his efforts, he who was so very dissimilar to all her former preconceptions.

A sudden damp spot on his hand, made only more apparent by the piercing, frigid air, alerted the hooded mage back to his senses as his eyes focused on the hound at his side, its warm gaze sad as it emitted an empathetic whine.

His smiled waned: now an imposter; brittle. "I was. You always seem to know, don't you?"

An affirmative bark.

"I'm not surprised: you were always good at reading people. Far better than most…" His eyes trailed over the mangled Templar corpses that lay at their feet, their crimson blood a stark contrast with the pure snow, "Did you catch anything?"

The Mabari whined again, bowing its head slightly as if knowing its failure.

He gave the dog a reassuring pet on the head. "Don't fret: it's only a matter of time. The woman probably misses you more than me." The man leaned down to pick up the retrieved stick and held it in his hand, inspecting it closely though seeing something entirely different. "Not that she would admit it; a kind word following a vicious glare; an indulgence and then she no longer knew you. That fickle creature…Detached and instable…." Letting the branch roll from his palm to his fingers; he tossed it to the side, the dog in front of him not budging an inch as it merely looked up to him curiously. "No? You're that supportive?" He looked at the attentive canine that had no intent on parting, before sighing, letting his acrimony leave him as easily as the carbon dioxide had his lips: his fingers ran through its course, tawny fur in apology. "You're very good to me."

Barking favorably from the words, the damp spot of his hand was licked for a second time as it wagged its tail.

* * *

"All right, Mugs: here we go…_Go get it_!"

Mugsy barked eagerly at the presented challenge, running to the thrown stick's location, speedily securing the item in his mouth for his owner so they could repeat the entire process over again.

"Not bad…" Aridias emphasized the words with light pets to the hound's head while he panted sportively; grabbing for the stick, his owner waved it back and forth while tsking, "Though your delivery still leaves much to be desired."

The Mabari growled; the sound rumbling in its throat not fierce, but only calling the man out for his false claim.

"Impertinence? I hurt only because I love." He answered back with a smile before preparing to toss the held object again. "There is still redemption to be had, Mugs, if you are so _very_ adamant in proving me wrong."

Its body falling into a crouching position, the canine readied itself for the imminent hurl of the object, his body nothing more than a fluid blur as it sprinted off and then propelled itself upward with its powerful hind legs, catching the stick midair in its massive jaws. Landing just as effortlessly, it turned around to reveal its visible victory, his tail wagging superiorly.

Aridias shook his head with mock disappointment before crossing his arms. "What? No back-flip? ...But I suppose you've earned a reward for what you did do." He kneeled one leg to the ground, arms now opening wide. "Get over here, you insufferable show-off: your belly rub awaits."

Dropping the stick almost immediately, the hound galloped back to its owner ecstatically, tongue exposed and maw opened wide in a smile until it was in his owner's open grasp, licking his face relentlessly as soon as he had access to it.

"_Blech_!" He exclaimed adversely though he couldn't help but laugh while restraining the dog's face from getting closer with his hand, one of his eyes closed to avoid getting saliva there. "Mugsy; down – _down_! I've told you time and time again…_ha_ _ha_ – I'm not ready for this step in our relationship! No means no, damn you!"

Thoroughly unserious in his assertions, the man truly loved it: everything about the dog fully represented the simple joys of childhood that had been wholly denied him back at the Circle Tower. He had not shared the sentiment with anyone, but he was sure most of his companions picked up on it from the way his entire demeanor changed every time the hound was near, its loveable nature greatly affecting. He had always wanted a dog; even before the Templars had seized him and taken him away as a boy, he remembered asking for one even then…But his parents could barely afford to feed themselves and their child, let alone another hungry mouth, so he was denied it – not that he resented them for the fact: it was perfectly practical; but a child holds much in their dreams and desires, to have even a single one crushed is, itself, the end of innocence.

Pushing Mugsy's head away a bit more forcefully this time, the mage grinned at him, scratching the coveted spot behind the dog's ears to repay him for the lost prize of his face as it whined softly. "Oh, now don't start; the reward was a belly rub, remember, not a personal invitation to lick my face off – unless…You wish for me to suddenly remember that the two of us are supposed to be on watch?"

A disapproving snort left its snout before it hurriedly dropped down to its back, exposing its lighter belly as its form writhed against the ground, loud pants of anticipation coming from its mouth as he presented Aridias with one of the many endearing looks it possessed when attempting to gain something.

"Another ham, I see. I don't take kindly to competition." His hand playfully plopped on the canine's chest, fingers alternating between scratching and rubbing the sensitive area as the hound's pants increased, tail swaying furiously while his owner chuckled. "It certainly doesn't take much, does it?"

Mugsy did not answer the question with brown eyes now shut in contentment, no doubt finding blocking his words out all but effortless as he was already receiving what he asked for; Aridias smiled. This was yet another trait he came to appreciate from the Mabari and why he had picked him as his watch partner for the night: it was forever mindful of his privacy and seemed to always know when he wished to be free of questions or suspicious glances – not that he could talk in the usual sense – but the dog could easily communicate its feelings to others and simply offered a comforting nudge of its head or a reassuring lick to his hand whenever his owner appeared down – though in this particular situation, a game of fetch was the pet's chosen diversion.

Chestnut orbs, that were now suddenly jaded, glanced away from the conciliated animal and up to the dark night sky that hovered above, his mouth releasing a small sigh as a few scattered stars twinkled in greeting.

He was going home.

The mage knew it would have to have happened sometime, and there was no possible way to avoid it with the urgent task of gaining allies ever presently looming over all their heads, but for it to happen so abruptly, was…unsettling, at best; he wasn't even given time to prepare. The situation at Castle Redcliffe appeared determined to only continue to deteriorate even when things seemed that they would become no worse off; Arl Eamon's son, Conner, had only three options for salvation now as an abomination: a group of mages performing an ancient ritual that required copious amounts of lyrium, both which could only be found at the Tower, a swift, but 'merciful' death to destroy the demon now housed inside him for the continued existence and overall greater good of the village and castle, or to make use of highly illicit blood magic that would substitute for the lack of lyrium with another's blood – the only setback was that blood had to come from a living sacrifice that would die soon afterward and said sacrifice was willingly Isolde, the arl's wife. Of course, not only was the idea close to depraved as it was never a fetching plan to kill the wife of a man you needed assistance from, but it was offered by the very same mage who had just been locked up not too long ago for poisoning her husband.

_Jowan… _His brows knitted together tightly: heated, despite himself.

A side of him could not believe that the almost awkward, academically inept mage that still had trouble casting simpler elemental spells with any real efficiency truly knew blood magic; more surprisingly, enough to be able to perform this abysmal ritual he offered. It couldn't have been more than several weeks since they had last seen each other, one fleeing for his life, the other forfeiting it to the Grey Wardens, yet Jowan appeared to be an entirely different person. A traitor; a deserter; a **blood mage**…Aridias could not help but wonder if his former friend believed him to have changed so drastically as well.

_Friend. _The word still left an acidic taste in his mouth; it was as if swallowing blood. _No – worse…I've done that._

Why did he hesitate? Jowan showed him no great loyalty when turning his back on their friendship – when discarding him like a broken tool after his phylactery had been destroyed.

Sten had claimed the man could not be trusted and was too much of a risk to be left alive: death was the only option.

Alistair, while obviously not wishing death on the man, practically thought the same when claiming the blood mage should remain in the prison and wait for an imminently dire punishment.

Leliana balked on the situation, finally settling on sympathetic forgiveness, as only the Maker would have it, being the true answer while he still rotted in his cell.

Morrigan….

What an anomalous answer she gave – as if simply administered to prove her unpredictable nature incomprehensible to mere humans yet again! For a second time, since Sten's release, she opted to show mercy on an individual, insisting that Jowan be released as he could still be of use; but if not, to simply set him free.

Aridias had not been expecting that – lest of all from her – did not believe that any of his companions would care about an otherwise unknown Circle mage that had tried to take honorable Arl Eamon's life; if all of them remained unconvinced or otherwise detached, his decision to no longer care about Jowan's fate would have been sealed; a dastardly path, perhaps, yet true…But no; the apostate had to be difficult, and now he faced a terrible choice. Bann Teagan had told him that he would take a part in deciding Jowan's fate after they returned from the Circle Tower with the mages and lyrium, though his elder brother would have the final say.

He hated feeling like this; hated the indecision that festered inside his chest from something that should be clear; hated the loss of control that lack of time for a proper analysis provided. His mind unexpectedly went to Irving, the closest thing to a guardian figure that he had, and looked for some type of guidance – what would he do in this situation? What would he say the best course of action would be; the memories of his parents morals far too slippery to suitably grasp to.

_Would you truly disapprove on Jowan's death for his actions? You always strove to be fair in all you did, and he earned his fate – no one forced him to-_

_Betray you? _The First Enchanter's voice echoed in his mind, the deep wrinkles of the man's forehead giving way to disappointment.

_And what if it's so? We cannot all be so forgiving as you, Irving._

Mugsy's body began to stir, his head rising lazily to acknowledge some unknown entity before unexpectedly pulling away from Aridias's touch and panting happily.

"How nice to find that the dog is more attentive than its owner; not that your affections are suddenly welcome." There was a shift in body weight. "Get back, mongrel. There is no need for you to rise so eagerly at my presence; it gains you nothing."

A plaintive whine came as a result as Mugsy sadly slunk back down to the ground.

"Now you proceed to sulk like a coddled child? The darkspawn will no doubt be relieved to know that they only need hurt the dog's feelings to subdue it…Not that it is not in good company."

Aridias gave the hound a reassuring scratch behind its ears to soften the blow; the voice that wafted down to his ears all but familiar to the mage now, though the brusqueness of it was not something he wished to recognize. "It is still my time for watch."

"And I see you are _most_ vigilant, Warden. Where the issue lies, however, is accurately naming this distraction that gains such exhaustive attention from you. Last I checked: darkspawn erupted from the bowels of the ground, not the sky." The sound of her soft footfalls drew near. "Though, dismissing the fact that you lay there, slack-jawed as well as completely unaware while on this watch of yours that, in theory, should guarantee our safety; let us focus solely on this latest discovery. Has star gazing been added to the list of Grey Warden obligations while I was unaware?"

"It is a fairly new amendment." His tone seemed to lack the proper effort for sarcasm as he continued to stare upward, hoping the fact he ignored her would properly persuade in her quick departure. "Since Alistair and I are the only two left in Ferelden, we had a grand time jamming it right between 'destroying the archdemon' and 'pole licking'."

"Left to his care, there is surely a requirement for lacking a brain to be a Warden as well – something that I am seeing is mandatory. Is there a reason for this recent phenomenon or do all mages of the Circle merely suffer from such random bouts of moody absentmindedness when set free?"

"Quick. You should pick one before it forever remains a mystery."

"Then let us address this unnatural intensity you put into your actions – so much so, that you lose sight of everything else. This is what you resort to when in deep thought, yes?" He could almost feel her eyes boring a hole into the back of his head. "I find it hard to imagine a different explanation for your brooding ever since we departed the fish village."

"Then why linger? You have solved it all." The mage was dismissive as he finally neglected the sky and looked to the woman with annoyed orbs. "You claim that I am not taking my job seriously yet you further agitate with bothersome questions. Come to a point, Witch, or leave me to my task."

Mugsy chuffed stridently, its head lolling back on Aridias's leg to break the tense silence that fell between them.

"So this is how the game is to be played?" Morrigan inquired, before she grudgingly nodded her assent. "Very well; since you are so insistent: let us forget, for now, that you are allowed such infernal prattling when curious, while I am condemned for but a single query, and come to this point." Her eyes sized him up, piercing gold orbs now primed to divulge all she wished to know. "What is your relationship with the mage?"

"…Mage? What mage?" He posed back innocently, gaze promptly fleeing from her perspicacious stare as she had hit far too close to home. "Me? You? We have a relationship?"

"_No_." Her reply was curt from what he no doubt considered wit. "I speak of the boy at the castle – this Jowan:" she pointedly crossed her arms, "the supposed maleficar?"

A formidable thrust.

"The one you felt we should release?"

A calculated parry.

"'Twas a reasonable enough conclusion to come by, viewing the circumstances: he would be of no use to us still locked away in that dungeon. While you appear to have so hastily forgotten, I will also remind you that he offered yet another option besides killing the child. That is what you are trying so hard to accomplish, is it not?" She inquired irreverently, as if extracting yet another one of his failings and laying it out plain for him to see.

"Funny. For some reason, sacrificing the child's mother did not appear to be much of an option at all."

"'Tis not feasible, perhaps, in your eyes, but it was not your option to take – 'twas the arllessa's. From what I have ascertained, that fool woman is most at fault here: she knew the child showed signs of magic, yet her self-interest kept her from making the proper decisions."

Aridias snorted. "The proper decision to do what, if I may ask: hand him over to the Circle? You of all people _surely_ are against that. Perhaps she should have gone on a pilgrimage to the Korcari Wilds to find your mother to teach Conner instead?"

"If she truly cared for the child, she should have done more research on the one she hired. We free mages do not hire ourselves out to whoever demands our services like commodities rewarded to the highest bidder."

"So, all the blame is to solely go to Lady Isolde? You truly believe Jowan should not die for any of his crimes?"

"The boy's only crime is preferring to survive: he saw a chance to live through Loghain's offer and simply seized it; what is the poisoning of one man, regardless of his status, when held to one's own life? Would anyone else not do the same? Besides that, there is no purpose in slaying one that has gained his power – especially not merely for sake of convenience or simple fear."

One of his white brows rose significantly. "And since when have you been so merciful?"

"I am "_merciful_" when I feel such an inclination is deserved – but that is not the point. The point is, while you conversed with the blood mage, he conveyed great familiarity; the boy even spoke of betrayal and seemed so very resolute in trying to appease you: one could say even on the verge of desperation…Yet, you rewarded him with such a cold disposition." Her gaze was unwavering, tongue prepping her next attack. "What of this Lily he mentioned? Could it be you both had feelings for the girl? 'Tis certainly not the first time a female has been the dividing factor in a once sturdy friendship."

"I felt nothing for Lily."

She was not deterred. "Then it was jealousy of a different sort, yes? This Lily stole your only friend and left you cold and alone?"

Aridias could feel yet another constriction in his chest as the anger inside seemed to gnarl and twist; the Witch sounded as if she was enjoying this, inexplicable delight lining her tone from these trying theories – he should leave; why could he not leave? "You're mistaken. I knew nothing about the initiate or his relationship until he told me that he wished to run away with her."

"Ah; so _he_ was the one no longer content with servitude, unlike yourself, because of her – and the girl was a member of the Chantry?" Morrigan chuckled, an entertained smile spreading on her lips. "How fascinating and convoluted this tale becomes: from what I saw of the boy while within his cell, I would never think him so bold. 'Tis _most_ extraordinary."

The man scowled, biting back the aversion he felt from her words. "You find that "extraordinary", do you? Audacity is all that is needed to have you as his main supporter? A bold sheep that is captured and brought to the slaughter is to be forgiven and indulged, yet a sheep who cannot escape its masters, as they do not wish to be killed, is to be judged harshly?" His tone became more aggressive with each question before he scoffed and looked away. "You are fickle."

"Such venom; can the same not be said of you? If not on this sudden refusal to succumb to a direct answer, surely it lies with your indecision toward this acquaintance of yours. Perchance this tiresome altruism you possess only extends so far, as is the case with most of the self-righteous. I fail to see how the wretched fish village is worthy of your extensive efforts, but a lone man, whom you share a past with, begging for your forgiveness is not."

"You are the one who claimed how everyone cannot be rescued, how the inevitable cannot be avoided; does this situation suddenly not apply? Before we even ventured into Redcliffe – before the two of us even met – Jowan was a dead man as soon as he used blood magic to escape the Tower. What sudden obligation do I have to change the course of his fate?

"You have none. I am just curious as to when the concept of camaraderie changed so drastically as to abandoning this supposed friend to this undeserved fate you speak of."

"And just what would you know about friendship, Witch?"

"I know that it is clearly not worth the trouble if this is to be the result – our leader so defeated by a connection that has past been severed. If this man betrayed you, why delay? Either capture this revenge you yearn for or move on…Or could it be that you are somewhat jealous of this Jowan, this boy who had the courage to take his fate into his own hands while you could not? Perhaps you even wonder if you would be here now without him…."

Aridias felt something snap, the emotions tumbling too effortlessly and too fast for him to try and stop them now. "Why, yes – another brilliant deduction! I, instead of living a quiet life at the Tower, preferred to be painfully initiated into the Grey Wardens, almost killed in a battle that wiped out the entire order besides one and myself, forced to gain allies to defeat a Blight and this inconceivably powerful archdemon, all on top of exposing Loghain's corruption while avoiding his underhanded plots to kill not only me, but every one of my companions who I've been selected to protect."

There was the slightest pause before she spoke. "So that is all you seek, hm? Someone to blame?"

"My death would have been nothing more than a second thought to him if the two could have escaped! We were surrounded by Templars, all with swords ready for my life, and for his own selfishness – for his precious Lily and _their _future – he would have let me died! I risked everything – _everything _– on behalf of our friendship, and how was the debt repaid – with betrayal; _his _betrayal!" The man could hear himself shouting and it shocked even him, but he was so very sick of this sore subject on being double-crossed: by Jowan; by Loghain; no doubt by her mother or even her: it was all the same.

"'Tis irrelevant."

"_You_ are irrelevant." He snapped, his chestnut orbs given dark definition from the fury she stirred. "You sit and judge, while having no clue on what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you trusted."

The once entertained expression from their game and its affect on him quickly melted from her face only to give way to an exasperated one. "And just who are you, little Circle mage? Do you think yourself so exceptional now that you have experienced betrayal _once_? Many others suffer from its influence throughout their lifetimes and yet the whole of Ferelden sees fit to not pause for them – that is the real world: which you are now in – _not_ your sheltered Tower. What do you want from the blood mage; his death? What then? Will you simply kill off everyone who mars your feelings?" Her eyes narrowed. "And what of the very people who surround you even now – the bard, the qunari, and the Templar; how will you know if they are not all just waiting for the chance to betray you?"

"I don't. Which is why I do not trust any of them – including you. That is what you were getting at, correct?" Picking himself up from off the ground, much to his pet's displeasure, Aridias patted himself down of clingy residue, his face now abnormally blank of all emotion it held not long ago. "It is your time for watch. Make sure to put out the fire as soon as the sun rises high enough; we will set out soon after." With the last word spoken; he was off.

The hound, giving a disagreeing bark in his owner's direction, slowly looked back and forth between the two mages before hesitantly approaching the glaring woman with a soft whine.

Morrigan swiped a hand at the Mabari. "Keep away, fool dog – I have no desire for your company or this misguided sympathy you offer. Go; follow your master and lick his wounded pride."

Mugsy merely cocked his head at the woman forlornly before whining once more, eventually following her order after a moment longer of hesitation and turning to trail after the departing man.


	7. Grimoire

I'M BAAAAACK!

I know; I know – I'm so **FICKLE**! Blame Morrigan: she influences me in the absolute worst of ways. I'm even calling my dog 'a dirty mongrel' now. ;)

Anyway, finals just ended (THANK YOU BABY JESUS!) so I was like 'Eh, why not?' and decided to finish this chapter up and post it. It's actually pretty long too, the longest one I've put out yet, and - **AND**...(wait for it)...It has a lot of Morrigan's POV! Kinda like Bandages. Yuuup; I know you guys wuv her, and that's my way of saying I still love YOU all: longer chap, getting inside Morrigan's head. (thumb-up)

And now: **intro**.

G = Grimoire, guys! Sorry: I thought it was pretty obvious, didn't mean to throw you guys on a loop there. haha Though, this is the first one you find at the Circle Tower, not the one in Flemeth's hut.

I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter as well. This is definitely one of those 'fanficy' ones where I'm all 'MAN - I WISH THIS COULD HAPPEN!' I also try to really grow with each new one and I'm constantly reading old chappies to see what I can improve and push, you know? So, I'll invite everyone to read the previous chapter again. Not only from what I just said there, but because it's been a WHILE and this one will make more sense if you do - esp the end. Hopefully, it's not too bad of a request.

Oh, and **little note** because I've had this said before: Aridias is NOT an elf. Nothing against elves; love em to pieces, but he's not one as would be explained by the last name 'Amell'. He has white hair simply because I saw the mage concept art that Bioware came out with for the mage origin and my mage then had to have white hair. Yup. That's my **sole **reason. :D

**ANSWERING OF REVIEWS THAT I NO CAN REPLY TO:**

**Some Guy: **Why THANK YOU! Such a lovely review! :)

I'm so glad that you not only enjoy Aridias's characterization but that you see that he and Morrigan's outlooks on the world are conflicting. It's why I chose the mage origin for her love interest: I just love how similar yet different they would both be. I'm also happy you're catching the growth in their relationship through their conversations; this story is dialogue based, clips of times in their relationship so that's really nice to hear.

**Witchy Bee: **Thank you, love! You've been with me for such a long time and I appreciate every review as if it's the first! :D

And you know, no matter how many times a person tells me this, I STILL get giddy when complimented on portraying Morrigan. It's SO much fun! And I just love her so! I hope you'll like how I portrayed her in this chappie as well. I wants ta make ya proud! X3

**Please: **This one made me laugh/smile! I would suggest NOT getting addicted to me. (points above to the FICKLE bit) ;)

If you're still out there, I'm SURE this one will give you your Morrigan fix. haha

**Enjoy and HAPPY THANKSGIVING!**

* * *

_How very…fortuitous._

The tentative view, no matter how dulled by a vigilant mind, remained abrasive, plaguing its owner incessantly as it would simply not let her be. The very thought that an item so profitable as the one she now held being so opportunely uncovered in any occasion, no less than…**extraordinary**. Truly; no words, could she grasp, more accurately defined it.

It was unheard of; this variance – this _**slip**_ – in the woman's surety…And all the more trying with each second it went allowed unchecked.

Sitting at the start of a somewhat agreeable bed, legs half inclined to torso; Morrigan glanced down at the black leather-bound tome that lay in her lap once more, the ancient book meeting the same fate as all earlier endeavors as defiant golden orbs flicked away from its intricate cover, tiny fissures of ire momentarily fracturing what was normally a stoic demeanor. Each look spared was an invitation to the memory of its brusque delivery.

"_Here." _The lone word was then swiftly joined by a rather distinct thud of the volume against the rickety table she then occupied.

Such a meager statement was all he saw fit to impart before an equally abrupt departure. All with one crisp word, and a single action, the Warden had gallingly succeeded in both pleasing her immensely and vexing her to no foreseeable end.

_That simple little man. What reason, he, for this…gratuity?_

The last word lingered as a loath question in the apostate's head for all but a moment before being instantaneously rejected and discarded – there was **always **a price. She simply did not know of it yet.

Childish as it may be, it was proving a fleeting temptation to simply not disrupt the magical wards the tome held and let it remain as the Warden had given it: abandoned to some dark corner for the man to witness, if only to prove its giving inconsequential…Even if it was anything but. Damaging as it was to admit, its chance arrival had managed to catch her completely off her guard; the reality that her mother's very grimoire – a manuscript of legend that most unsanctioned mages could only dream of obtaining – was in her hands, an event she had not properly prepared for. She hadn't spoken to the Warden at the time, but certain…expressions could not be suppressed from the incredible discovery: thrill; astonishment – gratitude. Thoughtlessly, she had allowed herself to convey too much appreciation, too much awe, toward his efforts in locating the treasure when he had given so little back in return for such effort: surely, it was all but tangible now how much the tome truly meant to her….

Still, such foolishness was beneath the woman and certainly not worth demoting to from the Circle mage's influence. Moreover, the strong awareness remained that it would likely do far more damage to her than to the situation's inciter if she actively sought to sow into the infertile grounds of petty vengeance. Irksome or no, the manual no doubt held many a secret that would grant her more power – power even her mother would not have anticipated her gathering in this forced excursion, something that would likely make the entire dalliance worthwhile.

No; not even **pride **itself would delay her that.

Yet even with such sound logic in place, it would not leave her, this nagging curiosity on his motivations; the indistinct, if not finespun, persuasions that warranted such a prize now being in her possession – not that such stray wonders were completely without merit. In more adolescent years, she had quickly gathered the invaluable knowledge that prudent inquisition was a most important facet of survival: the innate desire to know the who, what, where, when, why and how; the sheer power one gained once seizing the answer to one or all – both were key. Presently, the Warden had more answers than she, and such a thing could not be tolerated. Her mind gave its approval of this new venture: cause neatly fitted effect.

_Morale_?

There lay truth. She was certainly not the most enthused member of their paltry party, and was quite certain even the Warden, naïve as he may be, knew she traveled with him for her own reasons, reasons he would remain to know nothing of. It brought her no end of amusement as he tried, in vain, to gather clues and piece together her true motivations, belying his hunger for understanding beneath, what he wished her to believe, innocent questions.

_Quite the sleuth, our wayward leader – and these issues with trust! _A smile curled. _How exciting…Perhaps there is an anomalous vein after all in the once considered, unmarred canvas…._

And who wished a blank slate? Another obedient slave to the way of things? Anomalies; variations; uniqueness: these were the traits that gave any one thing value, this find happening to be particularly thrilling. Feeling in a variable mood, the woman felt the sudden urge to place the Warden into the interrogative fire, as he had so frequently done her during their numerous exchanges – he, however, greatly so, lacked her grace at evasion: no doubt a direct symptom of his insular days at that Tower. The woman could not imagine she would nearly unravel the Circle mage with her utterly lucid questions; certainly, she did not think them capable of causing such distress…or bestowing such satisfying insight. What reverence he held for this Jowan's friendship, as if he needed the boy's attentions to sustain him! Truly, it only equaled his spite from the boy's betrayal. While not nearly as illuminating in any respect that the Warden clung to this useless dependency given his origins, what **was **so delectable about the tarnished gem was how studiously he hid the fact. This blithe personality; this perceived openness: it was all now but a crumbling façade. There, in that quaint boy of a man, lay added depth once not seen; layers where there had only been a shallow disposition.

She would have to closely monitor how this intimate unearthing would affect his mental state and overall progress against the Blight – there were only more complex decisions to come and he could not be left dwelling on one that had long since passed his ability to change it. Above all else, the woman needed the Warden to survive and be in a suitable state for what was to come or her present suffering would be all for naught.

_Favor_?

Now, this was a fascinating concept to consider as well – in fact, she could not decipher if the Warden had merely bestowed her mother's grimoire in order to earn some small, lump sum of appreciation for his deed or merely did it as another one of his needless acts of consideration.

A jaded sigh escaped Morrigan's lips. _How very tiresome, if so. _

The Warden was quite interested in her company from his frequent, if not habitual trips to her distanced camp for, more often than not, insignificant dialogues on trivial matters that held no true worth. If she had learned one thing about the opposite sex, it was a thing she knew well: there was always expectation with their dealings; nothing came without intention and domination of body or mind – but this unknown of a man was simply too chaste to display any proper signs of physical attraction. Claiming what information she recently had, it did not even appear as if he wanted friends, let alone a lover; no great setback, in her mind, though, it would make the future somewhat easier if he were more…susceptible to her advances. One would think the undertaking easy enough as seduction, for her, was far from new, yet there grew another increasingly noticeable trait he possessed which placed her in entirely new territory: his complete absence of lewd behavior. Never had the Wilds native met a man so disgustingly pure. Even the Templar fool's eyes had strayed to less reputable areas of her and the bard's form from time to time – with a noticeable flush when he lingered too long – but the newer Grey Warden did not stare, nor try to sneak glances; not once. Even if something did leave him that held even the barest hint of innuendo; it existed more as an echo – a thing heard from another, perhaps, and then mimicked – than something with any focused intent. There were times, when even she could not help but wonder if perhaps that Tower of his stripped him of his lusts and made him Tranquil. Small advances had even been made on her part, but; despite her intentions, the only true reward earned was a slight stutter in his speech, or the coloring of his cheeks.

_At least until that quick mind of his comes swooping in to save him…. _

Admittedly, while watching him flounder about like a gaping fish out of water proved highly entertaining, the apostate found herself rather enjoying his near escapes from her unpredictable snares with the same zeal. While usually, she did not tolerate those with his dreary sense of altruism, it was another one of those surprising inconsistencies that made him somewhat tolerable, if not captivating prey. Tolerant, yet, at times, petty; opinionated, yet sorely lacking the worldliness necessary to form these linear views.

Presently, however, the sheltered mage appeared in top form.

She and the Warden had, by all accounts, had a rather prickly argument not long ago. The man had taken so naturally to the role of piqued adolescent, making sure to pointedly ignore her as they made their way north from the fish village to Lake Calenhad, that it was wonder in itself how he went on otherwise. He even went so far as to, and this was something she could not deem at all possible given his former obsession, avoid all likelihood of interaction with her. Such pains toward disregarding her presence were glaringly callow and therefore lacked the proper apathy needed to exclude another: better for one to use more subtle tactics and lead their victims into believing their actions caused no distress than to openly display their intentions – a ploy the woman now realized he had learned, though knew not when the epiphany took place.

_Perchance this is all merely a bribe, then. _Her nails unconsciously trailed the cover of the ancient tome as she thought, digits tracing the engraved tree. _An enticement to keep me otherwise occupied, and speed along my forgetfulness of our last talk._

Here was sound reason – more so even then all the others: he assumed he could buy her silence, his little secret, if assuaged by this gift and not left to spread across their group like an unchecked fire. It had all the makings of a proper explanation, but the apostate's mind continued to finger the holes in each of her theories, the one question she had no suitable explanation for: why would the Circle mage give away such a powerful thing? And to her?

She did not ask for it; she had not even spared an inkling of her thoughts toward it to him – and yet, after leaving his bastille of a home, the woman was now with something she did not believe would ever be possessed even in her most rewarding of dreams.

_Dreams_. The single word echoed ominously in her head, creases lining her brow as she recalled their dalliance in the Fade. _Surely…he does not find himself…__**pitying**__ me? _

The thought alone infuriated her.

That poor excuse of a nightmare by the efforts of the equally pitiful, if not more so, contemptible sloth demon, was seen by his eyes – and while the Warden had said nothing about her dream, or more specifically her mother's behavior within it; she had seen the small, questioning flicker in those eyes of his, the newfound spark of curiosity giving birth to ponderings of her own.

Did he think her **weak **now? That she **requested** that abominable rendition of her mother into existence?

She had no true awareness of what incurred in the others' dreams, though the chief demon was supposedly tasked with making realms for the ones it captured which they would not desire to escape from – realms that were believed to accurately echo their heart's deepest desire; but no matter how vehemently she assured the Warden that the abomination had utterly failed while attempting to violate her mind with its despicable games, something gnawed away at her better judgment when assuring her he had not been completely convinced.

Truth or no, one fact remained unchanged: the scales between them were now severely tipped off balance, her side decidedly bare from this endowment of question and breach of dream. At its most harmless, the grimoire was merely a ploy for some retribution he wished to seize at a later date; at its worst…

Morrigan shook her head, discarding the thought with the dismissive gesture.

What more could she gain, staring about her room merely wondering? Had not enough time been so readily wasted? Speculation, as she had once told the Warden, was most certainly a fool's game, one that she had momentarily placed stock in. She would delay no longer and openly confront the Circle mage on this and more, not letting him be until her every curiosity was sated.

Rising from the mattress, the apostate was on her feet, moving with purpose toward the Warden's room…Until she spotted the most recent addition to their 'charming' party exiting his door – this Wynne – looking up at her with a thinly veiled distaste as she closed the entrance softly.

_How fortunate…No doubt Alistair will appear next and add his insipidness. And then the bard will surely croon…._

"Morrigan?" The aged mage's voice perturbed her all the more, tone already so likened to a mother chastising a child. "I am surprised you are still awake at this hour; is there some reason you are you not in your room?"

"Apparently, it is solely to provide you with explanation." She raised her chin, annoyance clear. "Where I choose to travel and why is my own, though I find myself curious as to why you leave the Warden's room only now."

"I was tending to his wounds; it is the very least I could do after all his efforts back at the Circle. His injuries were severe enough to warrant an additional checking up on. "

"Ah. How nice to see the roles have not changed. Even outside your Tower, he is still the pupil to be coddled."

Wynne's eyes narrowed; this clear baiting would not be indulged. "He has told me, despite his own talents, you have been the main source of healing?"

"Forced to ground elfroot for its restorative properties, you mean? Yes; 'twas I who had to fill their never ending demand for poultices. 'Tis almost as if the thought of not being struck down while in battle had never occurred to them." Morrigan cocked her head uncaringly. "I will say it, in the very least, provided a distraction from the many empty conversations around their campfire. I'd like to believe at least one of us occupied said time with the practice of something useful."

"From what you say, it is as if you believe they earn each and every scar: emotional and physical, solely to anger you; he and Alistair are Grey Wardens, bound to the often lethal role fate has given them. They had no choice, held no moment of resolution; unlike we all whom accompany them."

"What is it that you search for – pity? More the fool they if what they once were is still grieved for. All of us are subject to fate: unless one is prepared to change it. They are the ones that are to end the Blight, no matter how unlikely, and I am here to help them accomplish that task, _not _fill the role of dutiful healer or consoling meddler. The Warden appears fortunate, however; it appears he has now been blessed with both."

"It is a simple method, Morrigan, pushing away others as you do." The aged woman's tone easily conveyed she knew her words were not compliment. "I suppose I will have to make do with the promise that everyone else here cannot possibly be as self-serving as you."

_So the old cat still bares her fangs. _"If you believe even one person the Warden and Alistair have collected is not here for their own devices than you are a fool."

"I only need look at myself to know that what you say isn't true. I am here to help those two, in whatever way I am able, prevent the Blight. This journey they are on is beyond self-interest – everyone will be affected if the darkspawn go unchecked. I will give my all to aid them, even if it leads me to my death. I do so gladly."

"And behind that veneer of self-righteousness? A desire to survive; you may say that you fight for the prosperity of others, but they are not the ones who fight now; they are not the ones who are here to make sure the Wardens do not fail. Despite it all, _you _wish to go on, even in your advanced age; that is why you fight." She waved her hand with a solid finality. "We both know this leads nowhere and I grow weary of such lectures: leave me be."

"Very well." There was a willingness in her words; this, perhaps, something of which they could both agree. "I only ask that you do not cause Aridias any unneeded duress during your discussion."

"More coddling? Is there a chance you will hold his hand while he fights the darkspawn as well?" Gold met blue in a challenging stare. "He is no longer the child you once knew, old woman."

"No; a child cannot become a Warden; a child would not be able to defeat the darkspawn and face the archdemon. I suspect he had to grow tremendously in a short period of time, and is still growing – all the more reason for us to aid him during this transition." Giving a slight bow of her head, Wynne turned away. "We all had a trying time in the Fade. I pray you sleep well."

_Did he tell her of that insufferable delusion? _There was a certain tone to the other's voice that made her question this, all the while aggravating her all the more because she should **not** care. No; she would not get along well with that meddlesome woman at all.

Sparing no formalities, the apostate merely proceeded in opening the man's door instead of knocking, immediately witnessing a sitting form on the bed, his flea-ridden beast at his side as he stared intently at a container while making expressive marks on a piece of parchment.

"Morrigan." He acknowledged simply, not looking up from his task.

"Warden." She volleyed back, before her eyes immediately narrowed in warning. "Did you believe your advance successful? One would need to be blind to not notice your awkward shuffling." Mugsy whined plaintively from the routine insult, halting in his tracks. "Away, mongrel –" Her hand flicked to a corner, "your dramatics do you no service."

Aridias turned to watch his dog dejectedly head to the other side of the room before looking back to her accusingly. "Must you slay my poor Mabari's feelings every time the two of you are near?"

Morrigan glanced to the pouting animal and clucked her tongue at the poor display. "The better question would be must it hound _me_ so? It need merely keep its distance, yet, always; the fool dog gallops with gaping, drooling maw."

"It is because you are so abrasive." An amused gleam defined his eyes. "He believes you are playing hard to get."

"Then, for his own sake, I would suggest you quickly make him see 'tis no game I play." Done with this particular branch of conversation that gained her nothing, she took a step to the side to gaze upon his mostly turned figure; he had suffered a sizeable wound on his thigh and his arm had been fractured in several locations, though, despite the numerous bandages, one never would have known such trauma occurred. "Your injuries have healed cleanly, I see. And by such a proud member of your Circle. No doubt you appreciate such continued doting, nursed by one so familiar…"

A ghost of a smile played on Aridias's lips: there was a barbed elegance to the arrival of her points, the freshly sharpened tip of a newly drawn blade, unsympathetic to a game, if started; he would not win – not that the quip was unexpected. "I gather none of your animosity towards Wynne has departed since you two met in the Tower; if not obvious from your discussion moments ago, then certainly now. But it is difficult enough to combat the darkspawn without constant need of resolving conflicts within." The humor in his orbs was washed away as something etched in the sand was with the tide. "Despite assurances earlier given, can I trust your differences will not interfere with our task?"

"If my "differences" with the ones you deem fit to join you on your quest in any way affected my ability, Warden, do you not believe I would have been slain by the darkspawn so very long ago?" Her words would not reflect it, but she found herself impressed: these transformations while she spoke to the man, from child, to Grey Warden and back again.

A true smile came, small and unbidden. "Compliance? I did not think convincing you on the matter would come so easily – especially not twice." It was only fact: she had been quite irritated with him at the Tower, speaking her mind as always on the folly of supporting Wynne's cause but he had managed to make her to see otherwise – a debate that she could have easily been in the same position if fate had dealt a different hand.

The woman appeared unfazed. "The old cat has her uses, and I would say her presence is worth tolerating if I am to be relieved of certain duties. Only time will tell." Her eyes flicked to the parchment he held. "What is it that you do?"

He was not surprised with the abrupt change in subject; no doubt he strayed too close to something she did not wish explored. "You gave me the task of studying this creature, did you not?" He moved slightly to the side to show a lone mouse scurrying about in the container. "The Tower is as much a home to little critters such as this as it is to mage and Templar." Placing the thin stick of graphite down, Aridias fully turned, with a small grunt of discomfort, to reveal his work. "I thought to draw the mouse's anatomy while studying its mannerisms. Your thoughts?"

"They are…interesting." Morrigan finally released, tasting the word and deciding it adequate; never had she thought much of what others called 'art', most of it portraying religious scenes or figures that held no meaning to her, but this she had never witnessed. There were several drawings of the animal, some undeniably rough, a lure in the whirlwind of lines and bursts of movement, while others still were intricately detailed, little notes scrawled to the sides of them. "Is this something you did often in your Tower?"

"A diversion such as this was encouraged between studies. You remarked earlier on how many books the Tower holds; well, one can only read for so long."

"I see." She decided not to twist this to a comment that would surely make the man flush. "Truth be told, I did not think you would be so dutiful. Your eagerness appeared to rival only your impatience that night: I assumed 'twas mere fascination that would weaken when realizing true dedication would be required."

"Never have I ever been unwilling to put in the proper effort in grasping a new spell. I am always excited to learn; yes: fascinated, to be sure, but I would not waste your time, Morrigan. And I would not waste my own." He had seen the damage his apostate companion had done in battle, seamlessly transforming into spider; bear; wolf…He wanted to do the same, to be able to do more than just cast spells from a distance. "In the Fade…" He paused, wondering briefly on his decision before continuing, "I was able to take the form of a mouse. I do not know how, but I was able to shift with ease. It came so very naturally, as if I'd known the skill my entire life."

"There are many occurrences in the Fade which transcend what is considered reality in the realm we live. Perhaps the will of dreamers past gave you such ability. Perhaps you gained a certain level of confidence and will in the Fade that you do not readily possess here. Or, perhaps it could even have been the Sloth Demon pinpointed this particular desire of yours and made it so in his personal domain in an effort that you would stay trapped in its world." Her expression remained indifferent. "'Tis doubtful you will ever truly know."

She had at least given him something to ponder on, but he did not believe either of them wanted to go into further detail."It is of no true consequence."

"Then let us speak, now, of something else." Each step toward the man was made with purpose, a slender brow arching just so in question. "You have returned to a cage most familiar. Did you wish to stay and help rebuild it?"

And here it began. It was not a subtle shift, but the man had learned, if not the hard way, her aggressive form of conversation; she would not relent until a suitable answer had been captured. An answer he did not wish to give. Not without more thought; not without more contemplation. "Why do you wish to know?"

Morrigan's dark chuckle filled the space and immediately, he knew it the wrong thing to ask. "Do you not think it suitable to believe our leader's return to his home, broken and in such utter disarray, would not affect him significantly?"

"Then you wish to know how I fare – if returning to the Tower has 'affected' me." His eyes remained on the parchment in his lap. "It has not."

"Oh?" Her very tone told she did not believe him. "I will be more specific. What do you think of the Templar now, seeing how easily his sword cut through your brethren? His disposition never once wavering that the entire Tower should be destroyed?"

Aridias sighed; already, he was caught in her web. "What do you wish to hear? That I am incensed? That I no longer trust him? I have already said I trust none of you. Exactly what do you expect lost between us?" His words were unhurried and deliberate; careful – he would not make the same mistake twice, lose himself as he did before. "As for repairing the Tower: you yourself said the mages there were merely sheep waiting for their eventual slaughter."

"That I did, Warden." It was derisive, rewarding him for something already known. "And it remains my opinion; what I have asked for – what I require now – is yours."

Avoiding an answer would do him no favors, but he could give partial truths. "Uldred was prideful and it consumed him; he lost himself – his discipline – and became an abomination, nearly destroying the Circle. The others saw blood magic as a means to an end. They fought for something they believed in…and were still killed for their choice." His brows rutted. "But there is a difference, yes? They continue to die, but there _is_ a difference." The mage could no longer keep his strong gaze, it dropping heavily to the floor. "That there were still mages left to save – that some still remain – is that not enough?"

"If one does not mind waking only to be slave the next day…"

Her answer had been expected, and he did not come expecting pity. "No one should be locked away; watched constantly…But I understand why we cannot simply be free."

"Because 'tis so much better to be locked away in your Tower? To lie in wait until another mage of the Circle is dissatisfied and disaster strikes once more: abominations running amok; Templars killing everything in sight?"

"Because, at least in the Tower, the abominations were not freed." It was a hard fact – a despicable fact – but it remained truth all the same. "The mages that chose their fate…their deaths were earned. And though innocents died…So many more did not. Despite it all; _that _is what matters."

"Fool." Morrigan stared at the man with unsympathetic eyes. "T'would not happen at all if the mages were not confined."

"You cannot know that; never for sure. Whether raised by Circle or by Flemeths: something would be lost." He shook his head. "No; there has to be a medium – some way for control and independence to coexist. Freedom without sheer chaos…."

"And what is so wrong with chaos, hm?" The apostate tsked. "I always marvel at how others fear it so, violently casting it out only to wonder, then, why it is so soon upon them." The apostate turned from the man, walking to the window to her left, staring out at its view of Lake Calenhad. "Nature, in its very self, is chaotic, yet it prospers; constant struggle the very thing keeping it alive. One would think such a revelation would actually be regarded from a thing continuing to outlive us all."

"Then, maybe, survival _is_ all that matters." Aridias did not have to glance over to feel his companion's weighty gaze upon him once more. "To survive long enough to find out what you want to live for."

Adding nothing else to his words, Morrigan, witnessing the abrupt transformation that was him yet again, glanced to the window a second time.

"It's hard not to wonder what could have been if I had been allowed to stay at the Tower…Coming back as I have." The man continued, as if he did not notice; a full truth among the half lies. "To think that something I couldn't control, becoming _this_," He only need close his eyes to feel the writhing taint inside, "might have somehow saved my life." The pure irony of the statement, and what a Grey Warden was, made his throat burn.

"I believe you would have survived still, Warden. If anything, you appear to be a survivor. And there cannot be so vast a dissimilarity between here and now." She stated, waving her hand about the room as if clearing this indecisiveness like sudden smoke in the air. "But where lies the point in thinking such things? You are here – now – alive. You need only make the best of it; there is your focus."

He couldn't help a grin. "Efficient. And practical as always." He suddenly exhaled, the words coming next not truly meant for another's ears. "I wonder if any of the Templars will truly choose to believe a mage saved their lives."

"You mean if they would accept such a thing. The answer is no. 'Tis not your role to change their minds, however."

"Mm…"

There the clay Warden sat in quiet contemplation before her, nothing more than a shapeless lump valuable to no one – but there she saw potential. A healthy sum of unassuming clay could be molded into wondrous things – _**powerful**_ things, given the right hands.

"I…regret my words when we last spoke." His sudden statement broke the pregnant pause. "I would offer an apology."

Golden eyes narrowed from this unforeseen change, clay shifting yet again; was this game; ploy? "Have your words that night lost their meaning? Why do you take them back?"

"I should not have lost myself as I did – should not have given way to anger…taken my frustrations out on you. I…You made me see things I would not have otherwise seen. You have my gratitude."

"…You are…welcome." This…perplexing man confounded her, thanking her trice now and leaving her unsure of where to go.

"I would also offer an apology for what happened in the Fade."

The apostate immediately knew of what he spoke, face impassive while acid lay in wait on her tongue. "And what did you…_discover_ with your invasion?"

His shoulders gave a light shrug. "You were completely aware that the vision was not real."

"It was not." She snapped, his nonchalance goading her as much as a blunt acknowledgment of any weakness would have. "Perchance that is because the sloth demon so utterly failed in absorbing my mind; it could not even read me enough to make a decent copy of my mother."

"I believe you."

Analyzing even the smallest shift that could be found in his performance, she saw no signs of trickery; did he really believe she did not desire her mother to act so foolishly? Even if this was no small mercy: she did not wish to think of it herself; the man still had access to something more damaging, a thing that gave even more influence. "Let us never speak of it again."

"As long as you know that I am sorry." While he suspected Morrigan would have no qualms about seeing another's dream and using it against them; he did not feel so opportunistic – not with a thing so intimate. "Your vision…Is that why you came?"

"No." It was curt; the topic was not to be strayed upon now that it had been properly dealt with. "I have come with query on the recent possession of my mother's grimoire. I wish to know why you have seen it fit to give away."

"Why I gave it to you?" He rephrased, a white brow inclining from such a question. "I do not follow; you appeared pleased earlier."

"That…has not changed;" The admission was as unanticipated as it was unwelcome, "though I do not understand your motives – why go to such lengths?"

"Lengths"?" He echoed, the humored tone grating against her already tightly wound nerves. "It was in Irving's personal quarters and completely discovered by accident. I'd hardly call that laudable."

The woman was not impressed. "Then why would you not leave it there? Why would you not take it for yourself? You are a mage and the tome holds great power – surely you were curious."

"I won't lie to you: there was a vague interest. A volume written by the Flemeth of legend locked away in the Tower? It was something I never had knowledge of; one of the many powerful treasures that place holds. The book had never been opened: there were wards that could prove dangerous, if not unknown." He smiled, remembering the staff he had gained with helping Jowan and what his imminent destruction would have been if Irving had not taken it. "I was not so curious."

"Still, this does not explain why you did not keep it for yourself. Nor does it explain why I have it now." She would see through his tirade; whatever feint he tried here would not fool her. "I did not ask you for the tome and yet there it lies, but two doors away – _why_?"

Pushing off the bed with a hushed groan, Aridias stood tall in front of her, puzzled eyes searching her own. "It is yours, Morrigan."

The absolute earnestness presented with his reply momentarily stunted her ire, so void of deception…Before lines of frustration marred the once flawless skin of her forehead. "Everything has its price – _nothing_ in this world comes without cost. So, what then? 'Tis favor you seek? More "_compliance_"?"

There was a fleeting curl to his lips, amusement from these options given. "What? Not a kiss?"

For but a second, it had been as if time stopped, the woman's hand a vice clenching the cloth of his undershirt as she drew him forward, a second hand cradling the back of his neck: possessive, propping his face toward hers. The effect had been immediate, as if a sinister ripple flowed through her face and washed away all the dissatisfaction that once lay there: dark lips formed a predatory smile, orbs, once gold, darkened now to a bewitching, honeyed hue.

"That is your desire?" Another dark chuckle left her, dry, like wood crackling in a fire; sweet and seductive as nails dug into his chest. "Such a simple request from this simple man…."

_Maker… _"Morrigan – I…This…" He sputtered, unable to grasp his thoughts, each touch making them more elusive.

"Calm, Warden." Molten words melted the very air, her fingers dragging across his neck so a thumb could stroke his stubble ridden jaw, "'Tis only a kiss…." Expression evolved, her rare smirk came, a wicked, pleased thing. "'Twas your demand, was it not?"

The mage's throat quivered as he swallowed, remembering to breathe. "It…was jest."

"_Then you need merely back away_…" Even as she murmured the words, her hold on his shirt became tighter, body flush against his. Nothing proved worse than a debt one could not repay – but **this** – mere physical? This was easily done, and easily accepted if it was all that he felt required. An eye for an eye, and a kiss for a grimoire.

Close. Morrigan neared and their lips almost grazed, but she did not touch. Warm puffs of breath caressing what she did not dare as eyes half-lid strolled from the man's own chestnut orbs to his lips. He was easily claimed, but she wanted more, not being able to help but wonder if he would initiate this – surely, his first encounter with another woman. So much more pleasing, so much more **satisfying**, it would be to watch this veil of the once innocent Circle mage crumple before her, giving into his overt desires like so many others before him….

"W-who betrayed you?" His voice trembled, but did not break.

She bristled at this intrusion, even as his hot whisper brought tiny shivers down her spine. "What is this you speak?"

"Before…You told me that I was not the only person who has faced betrayal; by friend or otherwise."

"'Tis fact." She hissed, an effective glare now present to show she did not appreciate this route he took.

"Who betrayed you?" Insistent.

A frustrated growl left Morrigan as she pushed him away; the moment ruined. She offered this man a physical pleasure and he wished to talk? About **nonsense**?

"Enough." She sneered at the child before her, even now seeing the effects her actions had; his heavy breathing and burning eyes. "I will never understand you. Perhaps, 'tis rightly so." In her mind, the deal was complete. He had been the one to deny what she offered; it was of no consequence to her; she turned away from him, heading toward his door. "The debt is settled."

"I desired nothing."

The words drifted from behind, but were ignored, their only answer the slam of the door as Morrigan departed the room.


End file.
